


CHERCHEZ LA FEMME

by sexylibrarian1



Category: Captain America (Comics), Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Once Upon a Time (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: Age of Ultron, Captain America: The First Avenger, Captain America: The Winter Soldier, F/M, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Warnings will be specific to each chapter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-19
Updated: 2017-09-03
Packaged: 2018-11-16 04:49:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 39
Words: 107,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11246652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sexylibrarian1/pseuds/sexylibrarian1
Summary: Lydia and Alexandrina are two perfectly average girls in their twenties who have found themselves stuck. They only want a vacation, but get much more than that when they find themselves in a parallel world where the Marvel Universe exists… and who should they run into but Bucky Barnes and Steve Rogers, who are young, carefree, and have yet to become Captain America and the Winter Soldier. Immediately, Lydia and Alexandrina are torn, faced with the choice of ignoring what will happen, or risking their lives in this new world and time to tell the boys who they are, where they come from, and what they know. Logic and reason have no place in the slow burn of Alexandrina and Steve, or in the uncontrollable, primal need of Lydia and Bucky, but the consequences of whichever choice they make are still there; who pays the price is left up to the girls.





	1. Prologue: Je Taime

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Part titles are as follows. Prologue: Je Taime; Part One: Un Peu, Beaucoup (A Little, Much); Part Two: Passionnment (Passionately); Part Three: A La Folie (To Madness); Part Four: Pas du Tout (Not At All); Epilogue: Plus Que Ma Propre Vie (More Than My Own Life)
> 
> Warnings: Swearing

“I need a vacation.”

            Alexandrina snorted, then watched her friend’s eyes track the piece of chocolate cake being carried past them. “I agree.”

            “Of course, vacations take money, which I do not have-”

            “Then you should save up.”

            “I don’t think you understand. I need a damn vacation _now_.”

            “Where do you wanna go?”                      

            “Anywhere,” Lydia muttered, absentmindedly kicking the air before turning slightly around on her barstool. “Can I have a piece of that cake?”

            The waiter smiled. “I’ll bring one right over, Lydia.”

            “Does everyone in this restaurant know you?”

            Lydia nodded; the bartender placed a new drink in front of Alexandrina and smiled. “She’s our favorite customer.”

            Alexandrina smiled. “So… where to?”

            “Somewhere where my life isn’t a constant pain in the ass…” Lydia huffed. “Somewhere where I’m not dictated by a job I can’t fucking stand. Somewhere where I’m valued as a person and not treated like a worthless employee. Somewhere where I don’t have to constantly worry about money and budget every goddamn cent I spend. Shit. I need to stop watching Disney movies. They give me unrealistic expectations.”

            “…You keep thinking everything is going to get better and then… yeah. Nothing happens.”

            The bartender put a rather large piece of cake in front of Lydia, who smiled. “I could be wrong, though,” she said with a smirk, and dug into the cake.

            “Can I have a little bite?”

            “Jesus, Drina, you can have more than a little.”

            “But-”

            “Drina. How many times have I told you. It’s not about what you eat. It’s about how much you eat. Remember your potato thing?”

            “I’m never eating another fucking potato again.”

            “Shhh, you’ll hurt its feelings!” Lydia teased, gesturing toward the baked potato sitting on another patron’s plate.

            Alexandrina snorted. “I would just love to go somewhere else for a day. One day of peace and quiet. Nobody asking me for anything, nobody yelling at me, nobody telling me to do shit I don’t want to… I mean, just a night in a room where I can control the temperature would be great. Maybe I’d sleep more than two hours.”

            Lydia made a noise of assent around a full mouth, then turned around and hopped off the barstool, heading for the bathroom. As she did so, she saw something that she couldn’t quite process.

            A man was looking at her; she was quite certain of it, but he was far enough away that she couldn’t discern his features. Oddly, though, she could clearly see his eyes—they were grey, with tinges of blue, and full of a depth that made her want to burst into tears and run to him, laughing, at the same time. His lip was turned up in a loving smile that had a slightly sardonic edge to it, and she felt her lips tip upward in return. He lifted his hand, slowly, as though he had to think about the motion. Lydia started to return the wave, even thought about going over to say hello to him—a goddamn miracle that Alexandria would get a kick out of, no doubt—when she noticed the clothes he was wearing.

            He was dressed in an unusual military uniform, one that reminded her of something worn circa World War II. His hat was perched cheekily sideways on his head, and as if he could sense her staring, he reached up and touched the tip, nodding slightly. Lydia flashed him a real smile and turned toward the bathroom, intending to talk to him after she had refreshed her lipstick.

            When she got back out, he was gone.

            Alexandrina shot Lydia’s cake a shifty look while her friend was in the bathroom, picked up the clean spoon that the bartender had so conveniently deposited on the plate next to Lydia’s, and took a huge bite of the chocolate cake. It was rich, layered, and creamy, and Alexandrina shrugged, mentally scolding Lydia for leaving it, then happily taking another bite.

            Something she spotted out of the corner of her eye compelled her to lift her head and look toward the door. Between the large amount of people shifting and converging near the door (apparently there was some sort of reception going on) Alexandrina saw someone that didn’t quite seem to belong. She couldn’t see him all that clearly—he was small, lean, and his shoulders were hunched as though he was constantly trying not to be noticed. His coat was too big for him, and he looked like a turtle trying constantly to get back in his shell.

            Abruptly, he noticed Alexandrina and gave her the edges of a smile; his eyes, a bright blue, crinkled sweetly, and she actually felt her heart thump in her chest. He straightened his coat, pulling it slightly away from himself, and now, even though she could see that his shoulders were even more scrawny than she had originally thought, he seemed a bit more confident. She broke into a grin at the sight of that and got off her own barstool. She had every intention of going to find Lydia in the bathroom and squealing over him.

            When she looked behind her again, he was gone.

            Lydia came out of the bathroom a minute later, saw Alexandrina standing cluelessly by her barstool, and gazed around the room. “Where did he… go?”

            “Where did who go?”

            “That… that boy… the sweet-looking guy dressed in weird clothes. I just saw him. I was only in the bathroom for five minutes.”

            Alexandrina frowned. “I saw a guy too… and he’s gone. He was by the door. There was a huge group of people… I guess he went with them, but he looked really out of place. He was wearing a weird coat that looked like it was some sort of costume. Maybe he was in a play or something.”

            “Maybe they were in the same play,” Lydia mused. “The guy I saw—and I didn’t see him clearly, but—he was wearing a uniform that looked kind of like something from World War II.”

            “That’s weird,” Alexandrina muttered.

            Lydia got back up on her barstool, paid, and finished off her cake. “We really do need a vacation,” she said, once again with a full mouth, but this time, to herself. “You’re done, right?”

            “Yeah.”

            “Okay, good.” Lydia grabbed her purse. “Let’s get outta here before we see anything else ridiculous.”


	2. Un Peu, Beaucoup: A

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Swearing, mention of dizziness, character in distress (alone in an alleyway), confusion. I think that's it.

_What the fuck?_

Alexandrina was awake, or at least she thought she was. She’d gone to bed late that night, thanks to her and Lydia being completely unable to shut up. She hadn’t really slept all that well, either, but she was entirely sure that she should have woken up on Lydia’s couch… and not outside, in a completely unfamiliar city, in the middle of a bright, sunny day, staring at a library from across the street.

            _Jesus Christ, what kind of stupid dream…?_

She pinched herself. It hurt. A lot.

            Alexandrina took a calming breath, and turned around. She heard the sound of heels clicking on the pavement and looked down.

            _What in the absolute hell?_

She was wearing heels. Specifically, sensible black pumps. And apparently, she was also wearing a pretty green dress. When she reached out to touch the skirt, she saw white gloves on her hands, and a purse—one that reminded her of the purse her great-grandmother owned—on her wrist.

            Before she could start thinking again, she scurried a  few steps over and looked at herself in the glass of a shop. She was indeed wearing a green dress, heels, white gloves on her hands, and a matching hat. She looked as though she belonged in a World War II movie.

            _Must have been from that sweet kid in the restaurant…_

She opened the purse and pawed through it; there was a tube of lipstick, a makeup mirror, both made in the style of the period, and an extra pair of nylons. Alexandrina blinked. _Who the hell had extra nylons in the forties?_

At the bottom of the purse, she encountered a wallet and opened it; her head instantly spun. Her own face was looking back at her, in black and white, dressed in a different outfit. The name at the top of the identification card was “ALEXANDRINA MARIE STARK” and the date was…

            _Fucking November second, nineteen-forty-fucking-two?_

“What the _fuck?”_ she blurted, then slapped a hand over her mouth. Her reflected self did it, too, and for some reason, that threw her over the edge. She stumbled blindly into a nearby alleyway, nearly sending herself sprawling when she lost her footing in the heels.

            The alleyway was, unfortunately, no help, because she came face-to-face with a poster, covered in huge black font: **STARK EXPO STARTING TONIGHT, APRIL 30 TH, 1943: COME SEE THE NEW INVENTIONS BY HOWARD STARK, INCLUDING A FLYING CAR!**

            “Jesus bloody _Christ!”_

            There was laughter behind her. “Look what we have here!”

            Alexandrina startled.

            “It’s the Stark broad, back from her vacation!” The two young men standing at the edge of the alleyway also looked straight out of a forties period movie, and Alexandrina got a little dizzy.

            “Who—what-”

            “Why don’t we give her a nice welcome back?” one of the boys taunted, and they took a few steps toward her. Alexandrina stepped backward and hit the wall.

            “HEY!”

            A young man was running down the stairs on the back of a building, scrambling down to get to her. “LEAVE HER ALONE!” he tried to shout, but it ended on a harmless-sounding wheeze, and the boys burst out laughing.

            “It’s the scrawny bastard! Maybe he can watch!”

            Steven Grant Rogers bolted into the alleyway from the side, ran straight at one of the boys, and hit him full force. It wasn’t much, but the boy was so startled that he was knocked back. The other boy grabbed at Steve, got a hold of his long coat—the same coat he had been wearing in the restaurant—and threw him into the wall. He went down with a thud, but— _of course_ —didn’t stay down, grabbing the lid of the trash can and planting his skinny frame in front of Alexandrina.

            “Don’t you ever learn your damn lesson?”

            “I could do this all day. Leave her be.”

            _You’ve gotta be fucking kid—_

“Hey!”

            Alexandrina literally felt the blood leave her face and go right to her head. She shrank down the wall.

            “Why don’t you pick on someone your own size?”

            Her purse slipped off her wrist and everything came out of it. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the young man in the brown military uniform— _don’t say his name, that’ll make it too damn real—_ kick one of the boys right in the ass. He tripped and scrambled out, close behind his friend, who had run as soon as he showed up.

            “Sometimes I think you like getting punched.”

            Papers shuffled slightly, but Alexandria didn’t look.

            “You get your orders?”

            “Sergeant James Barnes of the 107th, shipping out for London first thing next Sunday.”

            Alexandrina’s head whipped around so fast she almost cricked her neck. _“What?”_

They both turned back to her, their cheeks reddening. “Are you all right, Miss Stark?” Bucky Barnes asked, extending his hand.

            “I’m fine,” she answered, her words coming out a little harsher than she meant them to. “Uh, he—Steve, I mean… he was very brave.”

            Bucky scoffed. “Reckless. I thought for a second I was going to have to clean you both up off the ground this time.”

            Steve huffed.

            “I thought you were-” Alexandrina started to say, and then realized how ridiculous that sounded. _I thought you were supposed to leave tomorrow morning._

            “Howard?” Bucky was clearly on a different train of thought. “Nah. Wish I was, though. Man’s a fu…genius.”

            _Jesus fucking Christ._

“We’ll walk you home, Miss,” Steve offered, and both Alexandrina and Bucky looked alarmed.

            “Oh, no, that’s-”

            “It’s fine, Miss. We’ll see you home safe,” Bucky assured her, and offered his arm. Alexandrina didn’t take it, instead opting for Steve’s.

            Bucky blinked.

            “What’s that?” Steve asked Bucky, gesturing to the other papers in his hands.

            “We’re going somewhere tonight, punk-”

            “Yeah,” Alexandrina interrupted, seized by inspiration. “I’m taking you to the Expo tonight. You can get in free.”

            “Miss-”

            “No, really! Please. Consider it a thank-you present.”

            Bucky looked completely nonplussed, and Steve looked as though he wanted to hurt himself. “I’m not very good at dates, Miss…” he muttered, his face growing dark red.

            “Alexandrina. That’s okay. I am. We’ll have fun!”

            “We were planning on going,” Bucky told her, showing her the papers. “I kinda already-”

            “I’ll let you see the flying car up close,” Alexandrina blurted.

            Bucky’s eyes popped. “Okay, then! Uh… I gotta let the dames we were gonna take know, though-”

            “You can use our phone. Come on. I think I know where to find your date, Sarge.”

            “My…?”

            “She’s gonna be at the library.”

 

Lydia awoke, not in her own bed, but sitting upright in a chair in what was clearly the middle of the day, surrounded by books.

            _The hell…_

            She was in a completely unfamiliar, rather old-looking library.

            _This is a weird dream…_

            She stood up slowly and immediately tottered. Looking down, she saw that she was wearing pumps, and when she made it to the bathroom to look at herself in the mirror, she saw that she was dressed, not just in an atypical pair of heels, but in a light periwinkle dress, white gloves, and a matching hat. She carried a purse on her wrist.

            _Get a hold of yourself, it’s just a dream,_ she thought harshly, closed her eyes, and shook her head, hard, until she was slightly dizzy.

            When she opened them, she was still in front of the mirror.

            _What the fuck._

            Attempting to stomp down the panic and distract herself, she opened her purse and investigated the contents; there was a tube of lipstick, an old movie ticket, a pretty rock, and a wallet with a library card sticking out of it. Also in the wallet was an identification card with her own face on it, the picture taken on September 30th, 1942.

            “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

            Lydia ran back outside, her face white and her lungs burning, and checked a newspaper sitting among a pile of unshelved books on a table.

            **APRIL 30 TH, 1943. STARK EXPO TONIGHT!**

“Oh, bloody blithering _fucking_ hell,” she snapped. A library patron looked curiously—and disgustedly—over at her, but she ignored him, and straightened up.

            _If you don’t do something now, Lydia, you’re going to have a panic attack._

She took a breath. Let it out.

            _You’re in a library. Research._

She took another breath, this one deep and calming, and began looking at the shelves. Feeling as though she no longer belonged in her own body, Lydia began perusing the shelves; she spotted a copy of _The Time Machine_ by H.G. Wells and snatched it.

            After thirty minutes, she had an entire pile of books in her arms; she wasn’t really coordinated enough to carry them all and go down the stairs, but she tried anyway. On the first step, they shifted, she loosened her hold, and they went tumbling down, rather loudly.

            “Oh, _come on-”_

            “Lemme help you with those, doll.”

            The voice was deep, but playful, and Lydia knew what she would see if she looked up from the floor—an easygoing smile, on a young and innocent face, grey eyes tinged with blue—

            _“The Time Machine_ … Jules Verne… are you reading these for fun?”

            “Yes, I am,” Lydia snipped, and made the mistake of looking at him.

            “Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes at your service, Miss. I’ll carry them for you. I’ve read them, too. You got a favorite book?”

            “Um… that question is too hard,” she answered inanely.

            “You must read a lot.”

            She nodded, and for the first time, noticed Alexandrina and Steve lurking a few feet away. Alarm crept through her; this was the most vivid dream she’d ever had.

            “Well… Miss…”

            “Lydia.”

            “Lydia. That’s pretty.” Bucky smiled wider. Lydia felt a pang in her chest. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m sorry if this seems… forward, but… I met your friend Alexandria here when my friend Steve was… uh… helping her, and she said… well, I was hoping… I could take you to the Expo tonight? Like a double date?”

            Lydia shot Alexandra a look that made her shrink. “Um… of course. I’d love to go.”

            _Home._

Bucky whooped, remembered that he was in a library, and turned pink. “Great! Um… it’s just about five o’clock now… what do you say we go on? You’re not hungry, are you? We could do dinner first.”

            “No, that’s okay. I’m not hungry.” Lydia mustered up a smile. “Going now is fine. We can see some of the other things before we watch-”

            She stopped abruptly, swaying on her feet; Bucky looped his arm with hers. “You okay, doll?”

            “Yeah, I just… got a little dizzy,” Lydia breathed. “You know what, if we’re going now, I’d better… uh, leave these here.” She dumped the books haphazardly on a table near the checkout counter, ignoring the dirty look she got from a librarian. “Let’s go.”

            Bucky looked down at her and winked. Lydia nearly groaned aloud; she and Bucky fell in step just ahead of Alexandrina and a very reluctant Steve, and shot a glance behind her at her friend, who looked just as terrified as Lydia felt.  

_What the hell are we going to do?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave comments! I love them! And if anything doesn't quite seem to line up, or isn't like the movies you remember, I promise, I've worked all of this and planned it so it fits.


	3. Un Peu, Beaucoup (B)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Swearing, mention of Steve's diseases, AWKWARD, LITERALLY EVERYONE IS AWKWARD.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: So. For the people who don’t want to google the French involved, “Cherchez la Femme means, “Look for the woman.” It was a super sexist phrase in France which basically meant if a man was acting like an asshole, look for the woman behind him who’s probably the reason he’s acting like an asshole. Example: Man has no money? Cherchez la femme. That said, I’m still using the idea that “if a man is acting out of order, look for the woman who is the cause of it”, but it’s taking on a much darker tone. That comes into play later. The sections of the fic are named after a French rhyme that goes, “Un peu, beaucoup, passionnment, a la folie, pas du tout.” In English, that goes, “A little, much, passionately, to madness, not at all.” If that sounds slightly familiar, that rhyme is where we get the “he loves me, he loves me not” crap. 
> 
> A/N: I will have access to good WIFI for a few days, so you may get another part tomorrow. Maybe one a day for until Sunday.

“So… doll, tell me about yourself.”

            Lydia felt her stomach flip; she hated that question in normal situations. “Um… there’s really not that much to tell.”

            “Aw, come on, you were carryin’ a huge pile of books-”

            “That doesn’t make me interesting.”

            “What’re you talkin’ about? Of course it does,” Bucky answered, raising an eyebrow at her. “I don’t know many girls that like to read.”

            “Well…” She searched for something to tell him—maybe to draw him in, maybe to throw him off, she couldn’t decide—and sighed. “I… like to write, too.”

            Bucky’s eyes grew big. “Really? That’s—well, that’s-”

            “Odd.”

            “No! I think it’s really… unique. What do you write?”

            Lydia gulped, and hoped he hadn’t seen it. “Futuristic stuff,” she blurted, and mentally shook her head at herself. It wasn’t too far off the mark. “You know, like… what the world might be like in… 2017 or something.

            _Way to go, dumbass._

“So what do you think? What’ll it be like?” If Bucky had possessed a tail, it would be wagging.

            “We might have flying cars depending on whether How—whether the car flies tonight.”

            “Aw, God, I wanna drive one so bad!” Bucky tugged earnestly on her arm. “Do ya think Stark might let me after the show?”

            Lydia couldn’t help the smile that broke out on her face. “You’d have to ask Drina.”

            “Yeah! Hey, Drina-” He turned back to look and saw Steve and Alexandrina, walking in silence, Steve eyeing the sidewalk as though it had personally come after him. He rolled his eyes. “Stevie, ya got a date. Why don’t ya ask her about herself?”

            Lydia saw the same alarm suddenly reflected on Alexandrina’s face that had been on hers. Steve looked up, and eyed her suspiciously. “Why’d you take me out? ‘Cause you were feelin’ sorry for me?”

            It was a good thing they were walking slowly; Bucky stopped in his tracks and only him yanking Lydia back by the arm saved her from rocking forward and going down.

            “No!” Alexandrina answered before Bucky could go off. “I just… I told you, I wanted to thank you for being so brave earlier, and well, I have better access to the entire expo, so I thought you both might like that.”

            “Not because you thought I was pathetic and-”

            “Rogers, _shut the fuck up_ ,” Bucky snarled through gritted teeth, then turned red. “Sorry, girls.”

            Lydia and Alexandrina both shrugged. Steve went purple.

            “I’ve… um… been on vacation for a while. In… er, Lon—er--California.” Alexandrina was rushing to cover the tension, for her own sake as well as Steve’s. Lydia gagged, and her friend shot her a wide-eyed look that she thought was meant to be irritation, but came out instead as utter horror. “So, I just got back and… and… I’m here.”

            They were all stopped now, staring at each other awkwardly.

            “There’s the Expo!” Lydia exclaimed, covering her mouth when she heard how high her voice went.

            “Right, Squeaky, let’s go,” Bucky teased, and let Alexandrina move to the front.

            Alexandrina was growing more and more horrified by the second. There were a thousand things going around in her brain at once, not the least of which was the fact that she should definitely know of a back entrance into the Expo… and definitely didn’t. She was also aware that, instead of looking like herself, she looked more like Rachel McAdams now, and had shrunk down from an even six feet tall to about five feet and eight inches; she was also painfully aware that the Howard Stark of the Marvel Cinematic Universe did not have a sister, or a daughter, or a cousin, or whatever the hell she might be (and she had a sinking feeling that she would find out), so that probably meant that she had switched bodies with some unfortunate soul who was now living the most boring life ever in a parallel universe’s 2017.

            They passed by a huge army tent with a line of young men waiting outside, and she saw Steve’s head turn as though it had been pulled, a look of determination and longing plastered on his face. Alexandrina sighed to herself; the possibility (the hope?) of being able to change things had occurred to her the second she’d met Steve in the alleyway, but she hadn’t been able to digest her racing thoughts. _He’s not going yet, if you want to change things, you have time,_ she reassured herself. _And things are already different. Bucky’s leaving in a week and two days, not tomorrow. Things are changing, and you’ve only been here for an hour and a half._

 _You can’t stop Steve going into the army, the same way Lily can’t keep Bucky from leaving in a week,_ another, more ominous voice reasoned ruthlessly. _Things are different, but it’s not enough. You’ve only been here for a goddamn hour and a half. Where are you getting the idea you can change anything?_

She didn’t know whose voice that was—maybe it was her more negative side, maybe it was Lydia’s voice of reason, annoyed at her clear hubris—but Alexandrina knew that ultimately, it was right, even if she didn’t quite agree. After all, why would they have seen the ghostly figures of the boys right before they accomplished the impossible and landed in a parallel universe, if not to change things? Perhaps they had counterparts, perhaps they did not, but _they_ —Lydia and Alexandrina—were here now, they knew what was going to happen, and they might have the power to change it. _Why be here and not attempt to make things better?_

_Because we could make things worse, idiot._

_That_ was Lydia.

            _But what if—_

She stopped abruptly, realizing two things at once. The first was that she was having a deep inner dialogue with herself and it was probably reflected on her face. The second was that she might be dying.

            That made her gulp; she’d never given a lot of thought to her own death, only the deaths of others. But she could be right—this could be the six minutes of brain activity she had left after her heart stopped beating—hence being in a world that didn’t exist, and being a person in that world who didn’t exist. Apparently, instead of being in a world where her last boyfriend hadn’t been such an ass and they were married with two kids, she was spending her final six minutes with a surly Steve Rogers.

            _Well, isn’t this just bullshit._

Lydia, meanwhile was watching Bucky get excited over everything, his eyes wide as he pointed out various demonstrations of science experiments; she let him take her wherever he wanted to go and talk to whoever he wanted to talk to, smiling, mostly when he couldn’t see. All of the ideas that had occurred to Alexandria had occurred to her, and she ran down them all in an orderly fashion, talking herself out of each one. Changing what had happened was impossible because he had already been drafted and would be jailed if he tried to run; if he did run, was caught, and jailed, he would be a sitting duck. If he did run and was caught by someone other than the American authorities, he would still be a sitting duck. If she didn’t change things, she would likely grow old here and die without him. If she had been brought into a parallel universe— _against my will, thank you very much_ —and switched bodies with a Lydia that existed, well, she would just have to figure out how to get home, because goddamn it, none of this was her problem, and, finally, if she was actually dying and this was the last six minutes of her life, then… she might as well just—

            “God, Squeaky, am I boring you?”

            “I am not squeaky, and no, you aren’t boring me at all!” She coughed. “I was just-”

            “Bored?”

            “No!” Lydia giggled. “Thinking. I was thinking.”

            “What were you thinking about? You looked pretty serious.”

            “Um… book ideas,” she told him, following him to a game booth.

            “Oh, like what?”

            “Just… you know, machines that might… exist. Later.”

            He looked expectantly at her, and she blushed. “Well, like telephones. What if we could use them anywhere we wanted and could carry them around in our pockets?”

            Bucky’s brow furrowed thoughtfully. “Might help with Steve…” he mused. “I wouldn’t have to chase after him. I could just ring him up and see what alleyway he’s in.” He laughed. “Maybe they’ll make one special for him with an alarm that goes off every time he’s about to get in a fight. They could connect it to my telephone and I could come get him.”

            Lydia laughed.

            “Lemme win ya a teddy bear, doll, and then we can talk more about these telephones.” Bucky picked up the rubber balls and weighed them in his hands, threw them one right after the other, and miserably failed to win the game. He offered the man another two quarters, but Lydia snatched the balls before he could throw them again.

            “These things are horribly rigged,” she informed him. “Let me try.”

            The man in charge of the game gave her a dirty look. She ignored it and beat the game.

            “Damn, Squeaky,” Bucky teased. “Can I pick out a teddy bear, then?”

            “Pick whichever one you want, Bucky.”

            He picked a slightly forlorn-looking one with brown fur and a red ribbon tied around its neck.

            “What’s its name?”

            Bucky turned slightly pink. “Uh… Mr. Bear,” he answered, his voice dipping slightly lower in embarrassment. “I had a Mr. Bear when I was a kid, but I lost it. Guess I can have one again.”

            The sadness in Lydia’s chest surged forward with no warning, and she barely got a hold on it. _Goddammit, look at him, just look at him, he’s so—_

“Doll, we gotta go, we’re gonna be late to Stark’s show!”

            Bucky backed away from the stall, clutching Mr. Bear by the foot, and looked around, the anticipation on his face slowly turning to horror.

            “Where the hell is Steve?”

 

“Would you excuse me for a minute, Miss Alexandrina?”

            “Christ, Steve, have you ever been on a date before? Call me Drina.”

            “I’ve only been on a few, and they didn’t turn out very well.”

            “Well, then, let me fix that.” She tagged after him.

            “I was just gonna go… you know,” he said lamely, gesturing to the army tent. “It might take a while.”

            “I’ll come with you.”

            “That might be…” Steve eyed her. “Why? So you’ll be there to comfort me when they turn me down?” He was trotting now, and surprisingly, Alexandrina was struggling to keep up.

            “No, I just want to-”

            “I have to try,” Steve huffed, the edges of a whine in his voice. “I have to try and go. I can’t be the only one left. I’ve got to go, and nobody else understands that. Not even Buck.”

            “I do,” Alexandrina said quietly, and Steve stopped walking to stare intently at her. “You are kind, and you’re brave, and you’re always ready to do the right thing. You barged in that alleyway to help me, and those boys were twice your size. The world needs more people like you, Steve. Your heart just doesn’t fit in your body, so you’re trying to make it fit.”

            “And I keep failing,” he muttered.

            “So find a way to make it fit,” Alexandrina responded, knowing full well that someday, he would. “But that doesn’t mean going into the army, you know. That seems kind of…” She searched for a kinder word. “…Drastic.”

            “I wanna fight,” he told her, the smirk on his face informing her that he knew exactly what she was trying to do. “I don’t like bullies. I don’t care where they’re from.”

            “ROGERS!”

            “Shit.” He turned pink. “Sorry, Drina.”

            “It’s okay-”

            “Stevie, what are ya doin’?” Bucky pulled him slightly away from the girls. “Signin’ up for the army? Again? This isn’t a back alley, Steve, it’s war!”

            “All the other men are going, Buck, I got no right to do any less than them.”

            “It’s not about rights, Steve. And that’s bullshit.”

            “Buck-”

            “Because you got nothin’ to prove.” Bucky’s voice was dripping with sarcasm. “And on a date, too. Good Lord. Have ya even talked to her at all?”

            “I-”

            “Get on it. Come on. I don’t wanna be late, I wanna see that car.”

            Alexandrina snatched Steve’s hand before he could say anything to Bucky, and pulled him forward.

            “Ow…”

            “Oh my God, I’m sorry, I didn’t break anything, did I?”

            “Nah,” Steve answered with a wry smile. “And at this point, it wouldn’t make much of a difference, anyway. Hey, you wanna know what I got? I can finally get it all out in one breath.” He took what Alexandrina supposed was his version of a deep inhale. “Scoliosis, asthma, colorblindness, partial deaf—ow, Buck!”

            “Add that to your list, punk,” Bucky muttered, then turned back to the stage; he looped his arm with Lydia’s again and eyed her, leaning in close to whisper. “Thanks for bringin’ a date for Stevie… I’m sorry if I’m not payin’ enough attention to ya, doll.”

            Lydia sincerely hoped that Bucky hadn’t felt the subterranean shudder go through her. “You’re fine, Sergeant. He’s your best friend. I mean… it’s obvious. You’re very protective of him.”

            “He needs it,” Bucky muttered through gritted teeth. “And you can call me Bucky, doll.”

            “Bucky…” The word was soft, a little breathy, not at all said in the teasing tone that Lydia had meant for it to be in. Both of them turned toward each other at the same moment, and time seemed to stop. The buttons on Bucky’s uniform glinted brightly, and Lydia looked away from them only to lock eyes with him; she had been right, his eyes were grey, tinged with blue—the color of ice on a cloudy day.

            The crowd erupted in cheers, startling them both, and the curtains opened to reveal a section of the stage, with the flying car sitting expectantly in the corner. A few girls in uniforms were standing around it and a couple were riding on the hood, and the one inside backed it up a few feet while the others did a song and dance. At the end of it, Howard Stark walked out.

            Both Lydia and Alexandrina sucked in their breath. He raised his hands to quiet the crowd, arrogant and playful, and they shot a look at each other, painfully reminded of his son.

            He spoke a few words about the car, and then looked, adorably hopeful, at it and the lady still the the driver’s seat. Bucky’s hand slid down to grab at Lydia’s; he squeezed her fingers as the audience held its collective breath. The car lifted off the stage, it was gamely hovering, but sputtering—

            “Holy cow!”

            Lydia’s fist clenched, along with her heart, and to her complete surprise, the car rose higher up in the air, flew over the audience, dipped gracefully in a turn, and executed an easy landing right back where it had been before.


	4. Un Peu, Beaucoup (C)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: EVEN MORE AWKWARD, Swearing

“It flew! I can’t believe it flew! Jesus, that was—hey, Drina, can I get a look at it? You think Stark would mind?”

            “No, but I-”

            “That’s great! Where do we go?”

            “Uh-”

            “Buck!” That was Steve. “Buck, slow down, we can’t keep up and you don’t know where to go.”

            Bucky stopped and looked back at Steve, the color high in his cheeks. “Sorry, pal.”

            “Um… let’s go this way,” Alexandrina muttered, and randomly turned right, heading towards what she thought might be a back entrance to the stage. She heard Lydia snort and rolled her eyes.

            “Allie! You didn’t tell me you were coming tonight!”

            “Oh, _fuck,”_ Alexandrina blurted; she didn’t see the horrified look on Steve’s face, but she did see the one on Lydia’s, right before Lydia moved slightly to the left, half in front of Bucky.

            “Allie! And Lydia!” Howard broke into a wide grin at the sight of Lydia, who fought down her nausea to smile at him. “It’s great to see you!”

            “Uh… yes, Howard-”

            To Lydia’s horror, he pulled her into an enthusiastic hug. “I missed you. Where have you been?”

            “Um-”

            “Howard!” Alexandrina interrupted, her face pale, “we’re on a double date!”

            He blinked, let go of Lydia, and finally looked at both the boys. “…Ah. I see. I apologize.” He stepped back, embarrassed, and smiled weakly. “I really didn’t think you were going to come, Allie, especially after… look, I’m really sorry. I was angry. But… I don’t just make weapons, you know.”

            Alexandrina bit her lip. “Can we… um, can we see the flying car?”

            “Absolutely!” Howard led the way, and Bucky tagged first after him, hanging onto Lydia’s hand. As they made their way backstage, Lydia saw most of the girls giving Bucky interested looks out of the corner of her eye, and blinked. Half of her wanted him to abandon her for one of the girls and get her out of this awkward, awful situation, and the other half of her wanted to strangle them all right where they stood. Bucky, however, had no clue, or didn’t care, that they were looking; he only had eyes for her and the car, which was sitting in the corner as a couple of mechanics checked it over.

            “So what kind of engine has it got, Mr. Stark?” Bucky asked, blushing a little when Howard turned back to him.

            “A regular car engine with a couple of plane parts attached. It runs on a mix of regular petrol and plane petrol… it’s barely there, but apparently it was enough to get the car in the air!” Howard bounced to the car and took the mechanics’ places checking the hood. “Hey, Allie, can you do me a favor and reach in here-”

            “I’m on a _date,”_ Alexandria repeated, her face turning pink with frustration. “And please, don’t call me Allie, Howard, I don’t like it.”

            “But… okay.”

            “Let me help you with that, Mr. Stark,” Bucky chimed in, and made his way over, a little nervously. Steve, unsure of what to do, followed him, and Howard promptly made him stick his arm in the hood and grab at something.

            Lydia took the opportunity to yank Alexandria backward. “Why the hell are you being snippy with Howard?” she hissed. “This _is_ the guy who gets his face pounded in, if you remember correctly!”

            “I… I don’t like him,” Alexandrina stuttered, knowing even as she said it that it sounded stupid. “Look, I know… I just… he rubs me wrong. And if we’ve got counterparts in this universe… well, she and Howard don’t seem to like each other very much. Hey, Lydia-” She spoke over her friend’s annoyed muttering. “I was thinking… if we switched places with counterparts, we should try and change things, shouldn’t we?”

            Lydia scoffed. “I don’t care if we have counterparts, Alexandrina. I want to go home!”

            “Aren’t you curious about why we’re here?”

            “No! I didn’t ask to come here. I want to get back home and fix my own life, which is a complete mess, before I try to fix someone else’s. I’m not a goddamn guardian angel.”

            “But we obviously appeared here for a reason—Lydia, _we jumped realms,_ that’s not even possible, and… and Steve is so-”

            “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Lydia snarled. “Don’t tell me you’re already-”

            Alexandrina shrank. “I can’t help it. He’s so sweet, and kind, and handsome, and _Steve-”_

“That is _not_ why we are here!”

            “Oh, so you know why we’re here, but I don’t?”

            “I don’t know why we’re here, but if you fall in love with him, Drina, you are going to make everything worse. We can’t stop what’s going to happen. So get a grip.”

            Alexandrina muttered something under her breath, which Lydia decided to ignore.

            “Hey, doll, come look at—oh, you’re probably bored again, aren’t ya? I’m sorry,” Bucky said, giving her a heartbreakingly sweet smile.

            All Lydia could do was let out a little sigh and smile back. “I’m not bored,” she answered, softly. “What do you want me to see?”

            Bucky pulled her over to look, and Alexandrina followed, her brow knit. Steve was looking around inside the car, and let out a pathetic little wheeze.

            “Are you hungry, doll?” Bucky asked when he was done showing Lydia the engine.

            “Food sounds good,” she told him, offering him a smile.

            Howard had gone tentatively up to Steve and Alexandria, but though he looked outwardly polite, he was clearly working against eyeing Steve with open disapproval. “You boys didn’t pay to get in here, did you? I mean, she’s my sister, you shouldn’t have had to pay.”

            Steve looked as though he would rather be strangled to death than answer Howard, but Bucky jumped in to help him.“I had passes, but she got us in, Mr. Stark.”

            “Well, let me pay you back for those.”

            “Oh no, ya don’t have to-”

            Howard held up a hand and offered Bucky a grin, pulling two ten-dollar bills out of his pocket and handing one each to the boys, who looked like they’d been punched.

            “This is too much-”

            “Absolutely not. You deserve it for your service to our country, Sergeant…?”

            “James Buchanan Barnes, of the 107th Infantry, at your service, Mr. Stark. Thank you.”

            Howard saluted him, and Bucky crisply returned it. Lydia’s stomach rolled.

            “You go buy your lady a nice bottle of wine,” Howard said, giving Bucky a wink, then turned to Steve with a strained smile. “And you go eat a decent meal, young man.”

            “We’d rather go to the pictures,” Alexandrina piped up, irritated. Steve blinked, reminding Lydia slightly of an alarmed owl, but she couldn’t tell if that alarm was a reaction to Howard’s treatment of him or the prospect of another date. Alexandrina slid a possessive arm around Steve, bringing their bodies close, and got a thread of satisfaction out of the uncomfortable set of Howard’s jaw. Beside Lydia, Bucky snorted into his hand.

            “It was… nice to see you here, Al—Lexandrina,” Howard stammered. “Will you be home tonight?”

            “I think so,” Alexandrina answered, but there was no trace of malice in her voice this time. “Maybe.”

            Howard opened his mouth to protest, thought better f it, and nodded, letting out a meek, “All right,” instead. Alexandrina entwined her fingers with Steve’s—much to his dismay—and executed a half-turn that was clearly their cue to exit. Steve managed to choke out a, “Thank you,” to Howard, and Bucky raised his eyebrows at Lydia.

            Once they got back outside, Bucky waved his money. “Let’s go to the pancake house!”

            Steve rolled his eyes. “You’ve got enough money for maybe sixty boxes of batter, Buck. You can make your own.”

            “But I can finally get that giant stack I’ve been wantin’!” he crowed delightedly, and then blinked, remembering Lydia. “That is, if it’s okay with you, Squeaky.”

            “That’s okay with me,” she answered, grinning. “Bacon sounds good, too.”

            “Oh, yeah, bacon!” He took a deep breath as if to stave off his enthusiasm, and looked at Steve. “You comin’ with us, or are we splittin’ for the night?”

            Alexandrina squeezed Steve’s hand. “I thought a saw a good-looking burger place on the way here,” she suggested helpfully, half-walking away. “It’s just a couple of blocks.”

            Steve’s eyes flicked back and forth between Bucky and Alexandrina, well aware he was being led.

            “Aw, go on, man, she’s not gonna bite. I’ll see you in the mornin’.”

            Reluctantly, Steve trotted after Alexandrina, who smirked. “So. You haven’t really told me about yourself yet,” she began.

            There was an unfortunately long silence before Steve choked out, “Uh… I like to draw.”

            “Really? Me, too! What do you draw?”

            “Everything. People… landscapes… whatever I like,” he said. “Drawing is… it’s peaceful. Is that the place over there?”

            “Yeah.”

            “Oh, good, I know one of the guys that works there. He’s Bucky’s friend.”

            “If he’s Bucky’s friend, he’s your friend, too,” Alexandrina teased gently.

            “Nah. He just tries to feed me a lot.”

            “That’s what friends do!” They headed inside.

            “Hey, Stevie!” The man behind the counter beamed, and Alexandrina nudged at Steve. “How ya doin’, kid?”

            “Oh… fine.”

            “Haven’t seen ya in a while… and ya brought a different friend! Whaddaya want, you two?”

            “Uh…” Steve looked around. “Just a burger and a bottle of Coke, please.”

            “Cheese? Oh, right, no dairy.”

            “Are you allergic?” Alexandrina asked.

            “Yes.”

            _Of course you are_ , she thought to herself, hoping it didn’t show on her face.

            Steve’s mouth twitched. “What would you like?”

            “Ah… a burger, no cheese, and a water,” Alexandrina informed them, wondering briefly if the meat was safe.

            “Is that all?”

            She bit her lip. “Maybe some fries.”

            The man nodded. “Comin’ right up!” He grinned widely at the two of them as though his entire year had been made. “Why don’t you both go find a nice quiet booth and I’ll bring your food over to ya?”

            Steve went slightly redder, but did just that.

            “Go ahead and pay when you’re done. Stay as long as ya want. Get to know each other, yeah?”

            Steve gulped, and after the man had walked away, looked at Alexandrina. “So… so you and Howard don’t get on well?”

            Alexandrina paused mid-bite and took a deep breath through her nose. “Ah… no. I don’t… I don’t really approve of… what he does for a living. You know… he’s a war profiteer. He’s making tons of money now that… that all of his inventions are being turned into weapons.” The words were coming easier now, and she just went with the flow. “They hurt and kill people, and he’s directly responsible. What kind of person makes a living that way?”

            “Someone has to do it,” Steve answered, taking a small bite of his burger. “We’d all get blown to bits if there was no one to fight back.”

            “But—but-” Alexandrina felt all of her pacifist beliefs rise up in her chest and latched onto them, clinging to the familiarity of it. “We don’t have to always fight! We can try diplomacy first—reason with each other-”

            “Are you suggesting that we try and talk to _Hitler_?” Steve interrupted, his cheeks whitening with righteous indignation. “Because I recall that other countries tried to do that, and they were flattened.”

            “No! No, Hitler’s too far gone, I mean, obviously, you can’t talk to him-” She stopped herself from talking. “I just… people shouldn’t profit off of killing other people.”

            “Like Howard does? …He does what he does to defend the country he loves,” Steve retorted. “He does what he does to put a stop to people profitting off of killing other people… like Hitler is definitely doing. He doesn’t like what he does—he loves science. Normal, easy, fun science… but he makes weapons because it’s become necessary. Because Hitler never _wanted_ to talk. Hitler’s only purpose was to bully his way into power, not to talk his way into it.” He took a deep breath, and the color began returning to his face. “Not everyone wants diplomacy, Alexandrina.”

            “I know that, it’s just… War does nothing but cause people pain,” she whispered. “There’s no benefit to it.”

            “That’s why we need people like you waiting at home,” Steve answered, his lip turning up in a slightly sardonic smile. “You make it easier to come back when it’s all over.”

            “I wish we didn’t have to do it.”

            “If only it was that easy. We’d just wish for no war.”

            Alexandrina smiled.

            “And Howard… I’m sure he wishes the same thing. But… he’ll never start it. You know that, right? He’ll just finish it.”

            “Well… he’s still infuriating.”

            Steve smirked. By now, they had finished their food and the man who ran the place was looking hopefully over at them; whether he wanted them to kiss, or order more food, Alexandrina wasn’t sure.

            “You want a dessert?”

            “Do you wanna share something?”

            “Can’t,” Steve sighed regretfully.

            “Then no.” Alexandrina waved off his protests. “Really, I’m fine. I was actually thinking… maybe I could see some of your drawings?”

            “They’re at my flat…”

            Alexandrina cocked her head.

            Steve blushed. “Okay… let me… I guess you could see a few,” he finally muttered. “I’ll go… pay and then we can leave.” He stumbled nervously up to the counter, and his friend said something quaintly old-fashioned that was clearly a creative expletive, judging by Steve’s reaction to it, when he saw the ten dollar bill. Steve leaned in to hear something else he said, nodded jerkily, collected his change, and went back to Alexandrina, offering her his arm—and checking back with his friend for approval.

            Alexandrina broke into a huge grin before she could stop herself.

 

Meanwhile, Bucky was headed with single-minded determination towards the pancake house, clutching Lydia’s hand, blathering about the stack of pancakes he was finally going to get, and mentioning the flying car here and there. Lydia was content to hold his hand and follow in his energetic wake; when they arrived, they were greeted by a chorus of, “Hi, Bucky!” from the waitresses, who became slightly less eager when they realized he had a girl on his arm.

            “Can I please have the Giant Stack, sweetheart?” Bucky begged their waitress. “And a couple overeasy eggs and bacon?”

            “Going all out tonight, aren’t we?”

            “Tonight’s my lucky night!”

            He looked right at Lydia when he said it. She blushed and looked down at the paper placemat in front of her.

            “What can I get you, ma’am?”

            “Um… two chocolate chip pancakes and two slices of bacon, please.”

            The waitress wrote down her order and disappeared with another flirtatious smirk at Bucky; he sighed. “She never lets up.”

            “You don’t like it when she flirts? But Sarge, she looks nice! And she’s pretty!”

            “I’m on a date with you, Squeaky,” he answered, and though his mouth twitched upward in a playful expression, his eyes remained serious and locked onto hers with an intensity that Lydia was sure meant that she wasn’t going to make it to wherever she might have called home tonight. “And call me Sarge again, honey, and you might get more than a date,” Bucky said in a low voice, deliberately pressing his lips together, then running his teeth over his bottom lip.

            Lydia actually stopped breathing as a thought made its way across her mind with an invasive urgency: If it meant that she could see that look on his face one more time, she would gladly go to her knees for this man.

            Bucky smirked.

            “Here’s your food!”

            “Aw, look at all that!” Bucky gloated, pushing his silverware aside to make room for his plates. On one of them was a glorious stack of six thick, golden-brown pancakes, butter dripping off the top and down the sides. A pile of fluffy, white overeasy eggs and four thick-cut slices of bacon rested on the other plate. Lydia watched with her mouth slightly open as Bucky, once in possession of an extra plate, lowered the top three pancakes onto it. From there, he shook salt and pepper onto his eggs, folded each slice of bacon in half, then put each folded slice on top of the three pancakes still on his original plate. He slid the eggs carefully on top of that pile, right in the center, and then picked up the extra plate.

            Lydia held her breath.

            After a minute pause, he flipped the plate. The pancakes landed where they had been a moment before, neatly enclosing the eggs and bacon into a sandwich. Bucky tucked one napkin into his uniform shirt, put on in his lap, and handed off the extra plate to the waitress with a relieved wink. He then proceeded to dump all the extra butter and a sticky river of syrup all over his newly made sandwich, then _finally_ dug into it with relish.

            Lydia picked up a piece of her bacon. “Impressive.”

            “Thanks,” he said, and stuffed a massive bite in his mouth; his cheeks inflated like a squirrel’s. With an effort, he swallowed half, chewed, and swallowed the rest, then put another monumental bite on his fork, holding it at the ready. “So, doll… those telephones.”

            She smiled. For a while, she was lost in descriptions of cell phones, computers, and the Internet, and Bucky listened, barely remembering to eat. Their attention was diverted, however, when a man in a military uniform came into the pancake house, spotted Bucky, and saluted him. He returned it and then went back to his plate, but without the zeal Lydia had seen in him a moment before.

            “Bucky? What’s the matter?”

            “Nothin’. Sorry, Squeaky.”

            “Bucky.” She put her fork down. “I am not squeaky, and something is bothering you.”

            He gave her a wry grin, lifting his eyes to hers. “I just… I’m not all that thrilled about getting shipped out.”

            “You mean you don’t want to go,” she stated bluntly, her voice soft. “I don’t blame you at all.”

            “You _don’t?”_

            “Absolutely not.”

            He sat back, eyeing her speculatively.

            “Bucky… I won’t judge you. There’s nothing wrong with not wanting to go.”

            “Steve would say different,” he muttered, but looked considerably more relaxed. “I just… I lied to him, Lydia.” His face collapsed into lines of misery; his mouth curled downward, his eyes lost their expression, his shoulders slouched forward, and Lydia felt like a traitor for entertaining the notion, short-lived as it was, that she should immediately get up and put thirty miles in between herself and this man who looked like the Winter Soldier well before his time. “I lied and said I enlisted, but I was drafted. I’m a dirty coward. I tried to get concientious objection, so I could stay home and take care of Stevie and—God help me, he doesn’t know, but I tried to get out of it and a week later, I got drafted. I fuckin’ went up there and told ‘em all about Stevie, had a list of his conditions and everything, tried to tell ‘em he didn’t have anybody else, and they fuckin’ drafted me. Thank God Stevie didn’t notice my number when I showed him my papers. I’m sorry for swearin’, doll.”

            He took a breath, and in that breath, Lydia had a dozen different devastating thoughts, one of which stood out most painfully— _This isn’t even supposed to be real, it was just made up that he was drafted, none of this is real, but if it is, what else is real now?_

“I don’t wanna go,” Bucky whispered, shame sneaking its way onto his features. “Hitler is an ass, yeah, but I don’t wanna kill anyone because of him. But I’m gonna go over there and they’re gonna teach me how to kill a man—maybe dames, maybe kids—I mean, who knows what they might me make do—and all I ever wanted was to stay here and take care of Stevie and find a beautiful dame and marry her and maybe have a couple of kids…” He inhaled. “I’m not brave, Lydia, I’m not. I’m not worthy of ya, I know that. But… I’m not a killer and Stevie needs me and I’ve gotta stay with him. I have to or he’s gonna go and get himself killed, or worse, and I can’t live without him. Someone else can go over there and kick Hitler’s ass, but I gotta stay with my brother. And now that I’ve met ya—now I’ve met the dame I think might be _that_ girl, now I gotta leave and die out in some field. Just another dead soldier. And Stevie—he’s so brave, goddammit, he always wants to do the right thing. And then there’s me, just the fuckin’ drafted, dirty coward and—and… I’m so sorry, Squeaky, you didn’t wanna hear all that, of course not. Jesus. What a date. I was gonna ask ya if you’d wait for me—if I could write to ya, and—shit, I’ve talked too much, and I’m swearin’, and ya probably never wanna see me again.”

            Lydia waited for the space of three heartbeats, nearly unable to force the words out past the wall of air constricting her throat and making her want to scream. “…You would be wrong,” she finally choked. Bucky looked at her, confusion, dread, and a spark of hope all mixed in the expression on his face. “You can write me all you want. You’d be worth the wait.”

            He sat straight up and his mouth split into a bright, toothy grin—

            And suddenly, she leaned across the table and kissed him, before she could think it through. He very nearly pulled back; it was an awkward jerk of surprise, but quickly, his lips folded over hers and he took control of the kiss, cupping her face between his hands and deepening it. His mouth and tongue tasted of syrup and pancakes and slightly of bacon, and judging by the way he was devouring her lips, she tasted much the same.

            The rest of the pancake house burst into applause. Bucky pulled away, his fingers still on her jaw, and breathed, “Don’t go home tonight, doll.”

            Lydia cursed herself.


	5. Un Peu, Beaucoup D

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: SMUT, swearing, existential conversations, mention of Steve's issues, slight angst, major fluff

Steve and Alexandrina had gotten a free cab ride home, thanks to Howard, who had apparently sent the driver to “wait for my sister and her skinny date.” Alexandrina hadn’t been happy about that, but Steve hadn’t complained; on the way back to his flat, he’d pointed out every alleyway and corner he’d been beaten up in, rather serene about it all. Alexandrina had briefly marveled at the fact that she was essentially in Peggy Carter’s place at the moment, before sitting back and enjoying the ride.

            Now they were in front of Steve’s flat, and he was vainly searching for his key. Either he was so nervous that his basic functioning was impaired (he’d tripped twice up the steps), or he honestly didn’t remember where his key was. Discreetly, Alexandrina pretended to stumble a little and knocked the brick out of place, revealing it.

            “Bucky’s got the spare,” he explained, a sullen relief in his voice as he took it from her. “After—after Ma died, he wanted to be able to—to check up on me.”

            Alexandrina smiled. “I bet your mother was a wonderful woman,” she told him softly. “She had to be. She had you.”

            He shot a look back at her as he opened the door for them to go inside, but Alexandrina thought she saw a grateful expression on his face.

            Steve’s home was neat, but threadbare; there was a living room, a small kitchen, a bathroom that was more like a closet, with a large metal tub sitting in the corner, and a bedroom. In the living room, there was a nice fireplace, an armchair with a little table next to it, and a couch. Pictures adorned the walls, some of them hand-drawn, and Alexandrina wondered if Steve, or perhaps his mother, had drawn them. She looked in the kitchen and saw a little table, piled with papers and a few medicines, which Steve instantly grabbed and took away. She heard bottles clacking together in the bathroom, a clunk, a curse, and the sound of something being picked up.

            “Steve?”

            “It’s fine, just a second! The—uh—let me get the sketchbooks.”

            She heard him rummage around in his bedroom, and then he brought out a stack and set them on the couch. Anxiously, he pawed through them before handing her one. “I know this place isn’t much,” he muttered, eyeing the living room as though it was crawling with cockroaches and dirt.

            “I love it,” Alexandrina sighed, and she meant it. “It’s so simple. And it’s _yours.”_

“Thank you,” Steve huffed, blushing a dull pink. “Do you want some water?”

            “Yes, please.”

            He got her some.

            “So… did you or your mother draw those pictures?”         

            “Some are hers, some are mine.”

            Alexandrina nodded and opened the sketchbook he’d given her and was met with a detailed drawing of Sarah Rogers that took up almost the entire page. Her curled hair was coming out of its proper style, resting on her shoulders and the nape of her neck, and her eyes were squeezed shut, her teeth revealed in a true, relaxed smile; she was clearly in the middle of a laugh.

            Steve, when he wanted to, had her smile.

            She turned the page and saw a drawing of Bucky, standing smartly in his uniform, half done, maybe made during a fitting, but looking every bit of the brave soldier Steve thought he was… and who Steve wanted to be. Alexandrina nibbled at her lip, worried terribly for Steve, Lydia, Bucky… and herself.

            _Why the hell didn’t I just leave him at the con?_

_Because you’re an idiot. Lydia already called you on it._

Huffing, she continued paging through the sketchbook. There were quite a few drawings of Bucky and Sarah, but there were also some landscapes and somewhat recognizable spots of New York, and Alexandrina looked at every drawing with growing fascination, becoming more deeply entrenched in the man Steve was through his art. Not a single page had been left blank.

            “Jo? Can I-”

            “Oh, here, you can have it-”

            “No, don’t move! You’re perfect! I mean—the light is perfect-” He went an ugly shade of purple and scrabbled for some of his medicine—to Alexandrina, it reminded her of a primitive inhaler, and he confirmed it when he took a deep lungful of air. He then grabbed at another sketchbook and a pencil, nearly toppling the rickety table by the armchair; the lamp on top of it wobbled dangerously. Alexandrina watched him, caught between hilarity and pity, and trying not to let him see either emotion on her face. Steve snatched a chair from the kitchen and dragged it over in front of the armchair, and then directed her to sit. When they were both settled, he opened the sketchbook and placed it carefully on his lap.

            Alexandrina waited, watching him with widening eyes; after a few nervous glances at her and some erratic pencil-tapping, he’d settled into a slow, relaxing rhythm, sliding pencil across paper with ease. Alexandrina saw his shyness and bitter reserve melt away; the tension lines in his face settled into an expression of purpose, and he no longer looked at her as though she might bite him. His brow was slightly furrowed, his mouth was turned down in concentration, and his eyes sparked with an intensity that made Alexandrina think he might bite her.

            Her toes curled.

            Steve let out a slow breath, stole another glance at her, and then returned to sketching. He hadn’t needed one pull of air from his inhaler since he’d sat her down, and Alexandrina watched him make a correction to his drawing with an ache building in her heart. This man wasn’t “little skinny Stevie” who was regularly beaten up in alleyways for challenging boys twice his size, but this wasn’t the man who would become Captain America, either. This was just… Steven Grant Rogers, the man who might have been, if the war had never started, if there hadn’t been a need for his bravery, or a need for Captain America the dancing doll and stoic soldier.

            This was the man he _should_ have become.

            He sighed—in relief or regret?—and offered Alexandrina the sketchbook. She took it, and all at once, her face turned the same shocking shade of purple that Steve’s had been. The young woman on the page was frozen in a position that screamed of wanting; her pupils were blown, her shoulders were tight, her fingers clenched together on top of the ghosts of crossed legs. Her mouth was slightly open, eyes wide, a thoughtful knit in her brow.  

            He’d even drawn her nipples hard through her dress.

            Her eyes flicked back up to his, and neither of them looked away. Steve’s breath no longer came easily—he sucked in shallow pants of air, sounding desperate. Alexandrina wasn’t breathing at all.

            “If I were any kind of man, I would-” He caught himself, biting down on his lip to keep the words from spilling out. “…But I can’t.”

            Before Alexandrina could stop to think, she took his shoulder and brushed her lips across his. “…That’s enough for me.”

 

On the way back to Bucky’s flat, he and Lydia stopped at a small restaurant to pick up a bottle of wine. When they entered, they were greeted by a tall, round, robust man who was every bit the quintessential Italian-American man from Brooklyn, New York. “BUCKO!” he shouted, weaving his way chaotically through the tables to reach them. When he did, he hauled Bucky off the ground in a ridiculously enthusiastic bear hug.

            “Marco—Marco, please—can’t-”

            “Marco, you behave yourself! We still have guests!” The woman scolding him and gesturing to the few couples left was small and rotund, with salt-and-pepper hair tied up in a graceful bun at the back of her head. Her face, though wrinkled and lined, bore the vestiges of what had once been great beauty, transformed into common sense and kindness. In her hands, she carried a sheaf of papers with numbers written in neat columns.

            Marco put Bucky down, gave his wife a placatory kiss—in full view of said guests—and turned to Lydia, his eyes widening in shock and pleasure. “Oh, you’ve brought a beautiful woman and you are trying to impress her, and I am not helping, true?” He snatched Lydia’s hand and gave it a kiss. “Ciao, _belladonna_. You remind me of my wife when we were younger.” He winked and turned back to Bucky. “You made a good choice, Bucko, you keep her.”

            “Oh, she’s a keeper,” Bucky agreed, drawing Lydia back to him, pride in his face. “She said she’d let me date her when I get back home.”

            “Then we must celebrate!” Marco’s wife exclaimed, smiling.

            “I was actually hoping to buy one of your bottles of wine,” Bucky told them before he and Lydia could be herded to a table. “We ate at the pancake house already. And we know you’re about to close.”

            “Really, Bucky, pancakes and wine?” The couple scoffed. “You come to the family dinner tomorrow and we’ll show you how to feed your woman properly.”

            “Oh, no, I don’t wanna im-”

            “Nonsense. You come tomorrow at six, you bring your _belladonna_ and your Stevie. We’ll feed you up before you go.”

            “Stevie can’t eat-”

            “We’ll make something for him, special, and if he’s got a _belladonna_ , he can bring her along, too.” By the woman’s tone, Bucky knew the conversation was over, and shot Lydia an amused glance. “Now, you say you want to buy a bottle of wine? I’ll give you the family discount.”

            “I don’t need one… I’ve got-” Bucky’s protests were again lost, and he inhaled deeply. “Okay, okay, what kinds do you have?”

            An overexcited Tony led them over to the store side of the restaurant and showed them six different bottles of wine, all of which looked monstrously expensive, even for the time period, and all of which, suspiciously, weren’t. Together, Lydia and Bucky picked one and said their goodbyes to Tony and his wife. As they left the restaurant, Lydia looked back to wave, and instead, caught a glimpse of the sign: _Grandma Rumlow’s Italian Kitchen._

Her pancakes surged in her stomach.

            “Squeaky? What’s wrong?”

            She took a breath. “Are we going back to… to your place, Bucky?”

            “Well, we gotta drink the wine, now, don’t we? Doll, slow down-”

            Lydia ignored him and promptly stepped right on a large stone in her path. Her heel snapped.

            _“Fuck_!” She grabbed wildly at the air and managed to catch onto Bucky’s outstretched left arm. “Oh, goddammit, my toe—oh, _fuck_ these bloody high fucking _heels_ … ouch.”

            “Damn, doll,” he murmured, awe all over his expression and wonder in his voice. “And here I was worried about swearin’ in front of ya.”

            He slipped off her shoe, handed her it and the wine, and swept her up in his arms, bridal style. “We’re only about five minutes from home. I’ll carry ya the rest of the way, if that’s all right.”

            “Thank you, Bucky,” Lydia answered sheepishly. “I’m sorry.”

            “Why? Don’t be sorry!” He grinned like a litte boy presented with a year’s supply of his favorite candy. “I like a girl who’s not scared of a good curse. Actually, you’d make a pretty good soldier with that mouth.”

            “Clumsiness nonwithstanding,” Lydia joked, firmly shutting down the nasty part of her brain that had about three hundred ways to elaborate on that scenario.

            “That could be trained outta ya,” Bucky told her good-naturedly. “That’s my place right up there. I’m gonna carry ya over the threshold.” He winked.

            Lydia giggled.

            He did just that, humming the wedding song under his breath, adorably off-key, and then sat her gently down on his couch. As he took off his uniform jacket and hat, hanging them both on a hook in the entryway, Lydia took a good look around the flat.

            It was small, but well-kept, and so neat that Lydia found it disturbing. The couch was up against a wall and had little tables on either side of it, and a coffee table in front of it. On that coffee table was a framed photograph of four people that had to be Bucky’s parents and two sisters, but there wasn’t anything else. Every surface that Lydia could see was utterly, weirdly spotless, and she was ninety-nine percent sure that Bucky hadn’t planned on bringing her back here, so the only conclusion that she could come to was that he was naturally this clean, this… in control.

            Bucky walked out from the kitchen, still wearing his uniform pants, but now barefoot and sporting just a white tank, hair mussed a bit in the back. Silently, he handed her a glass of wine and glanced guiltily at the pile of paper money and change from the ten dollar bill lying on one of the tables by the couch.

            “Buy yourself some decent groceries with that,” Lydia commanded gently, accurately reading his expression, “and then give the rest to Steve.”

            He met her gaze, and abruptly, kissed her, just as she had kissed him in the pancake house. Despite every single one of the voices in her head, which were rarely in agreement, all screaming an earth-shattering _STOP IT NOW_ at her, she ignored them soundly, and slid her hands up his shoulders until her fingers tangled in his hair.

            “Doll—Squeaky-” Bucky stepped back slightly and Lydia’s hands fell away. “I shouldn’t be doin’ this—not on the first date-”

            “Please don’t stop.”

            “I shouldn’t ask this—I mean—I have no right-” His fingers continually stroked the start of her jawline just below her ear, negating his panted words. “But… but I want ya to… stay with me. Please. We don’t gotta sleep together, but-”

            “Bucky.” Lydia silenced him by putting her fingertips lightly on his mouth, and he closed his lips around one and flicked his tongue across the tip before he grazed his teeth across it. “I… would like very much for you to fuck me into next week.”

            “ _Jesus fucking Christ.”_ His arms went around her, and as he lifted her, he kissed her again, hot and needy. Lydia clamped her legs around his waist, her thighs squeezing mercilessly. He growled briefly, low in his throat, and went through his open bedroom door.

            “Oh my God, Bucky-”

            He brought them both down onto the bed, easing her back against the headboard. “You stay right there, baby doll,” he told her, his eyes wide; his fingers shook just a little as he unbuttoned his pants, and in her heightened state of awareness, Lydia saw him eye his hands as if he hadn’t been expecting that. She took that as a cue and began to work her dress off, and once it had been shed, he took it from her and hung it on the bedpost, neat as ever. She reached out and experimentally cupped the bulge in his pants; he hissed through his teeth, and then smiled, a little sheepish, at her. “You’re makin’ me come apart, baby doll.”

            “Good,” she whispered, stroking him with a single finger.

            He shuddered. “Jesus…”

            She did it again, then hooked her fingers in his underwear to pull it off.

            “Squeaky—wait—that’d be so selfish of me-”

            “Don’t be silly, Bucky,” she cooed, and slid his underwear down. He stepped out of it as if in a trance. “You can pay me back later.”

            “Oh, I will.” He let her lay him down on the bed, and she wet her hand and carefully wrapped it around him, giving him a few slow strokes before leaning down and licking up his shaft.

            “Christ! Doll—what’re ya—oh!”

            She fitted her mouth around him, and then began to suck.

            “Oh… doll… what is tha—what are ya doin to-” His question was lost in a groan.

            Lydia pulled back, wiping her mouth. “Bucky… has… has anyone ever done this for you before?”

            “No!” He sat up slightly. “I didn’t know dames would—I mean… it feels really good-”

            _“What?”_

He shrugged. “I gotta say, though, doll… you look damn pretty doin’ that.”

            Lydia blinked, shook her head, and bent back down, taking him into her mouth again.

            “Oh—Jesus, Squeaky! Do that thing with your tongue again—yeah, just like that-” Bucky groaned, and Lydia felt wetness gather in her underwear. Her legs tensed; Bucky reached down and gripped her shoulder. “Fuck! Goddammit, Squeaky, _fuck!”_

She hummed a low note; her throat opened and she took him back as far as she could, reaching up and cupping his balls in her hands as she did so. His hips jumped; he groaned—

            “Lydia—Lydia, wait—I might-”

            She caught his eye and sucked just a bit harder. He fucked her mouth, once, twice—

            “Lydia!” He twisted, attempting to wrench himself away from her, and she immediately dropped her jaw and pulled back. He came in short spurts, his fists clenching, hips rolling, and Lydia found herself focusing on his closed eyes, his gracefully long eyelashes, his slightly open mouth. She fought a lump in her rapidly closing throat.

            “Squeaky…” he breathed, clutching at his chest, “that felt… _good.”_

“That was the point, Bucky,” she giggled. “And I’m not squeaky.”

            “Yes, you are.”

            She hummed her disapproval, sitting back and wiping her mouth daintily with the edge of the sheet. After takin a few calming breaths, he rose and went to the bathroom, swiping an agitated hand through his hair. Lydia heard water running and smiled to herself; when he came out, he was fully naked, and he threw his tank on the floor with a loud splat. He noticed her looking at him, and paused to let her stare.

            And Lydia was staring; her heart felt as though it was going to come and burst through her throat. Bucky was a little skinny, probably a little underfed, with bony shoulders and lean arms. His chest was rather hairy, and oddly, the expanse of wiry black and brown hair on his body was bringing her to tears. Briefly, she marveled at the absurdity of that, of her entire situation, but _dear God, look at him, he’s just so—_

Average. He was average, and it was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen.

            “It’s your turn, doll,” he crooned, and caught her hand when she reached up to touch him. “Stay still, now.”

            She nodded, her breath hitching. Bucky stroked her hips, his fingers gentle, and leaned down to take one of her breasts in his mouth. When he flicked his tongue across her nipple, a small sigh escaped her, and Bucky hummed his approval, sucking her breast until her nipple was hard and his every touch burned in stinging pleasure. Just before he switched to the other one, he bit down on her soft skin, and Lydia moaned huskily.

            He made sure to leave a mark on the other one.

            “Bucky…”

            “Patience, Squeaky,” he teased, easing her onto her back and nipping and licking his way down, serenely tasting her as though she were a dessert. Her body twisted and writhed, arching toward him, and he laughed softly, leaving a hickey on her inner thigh. “Such a greedy girl,” he muttered, and then shifted, swiping a finger down her slit.

            “Oh, God, Bucky, please!”

            “Talk to me baby, tell me what you want.” He was kneading her with the heel of his palm now, deliberate and slow. “You gonna be a good girl and call me Sarge?”

            A strangled noise fought its way out of her throat.

            “Not good enough, Squeaky.” His hand disappeared.

            “No—please, Sarge… please, I want your mouth on me-”

            “Tell me how much you want it, dolly.” He nipped at the skin just above her underwear, then took them off with his teeth, smiling.

            “Please, Sarge… please put your mouth on me…? Please?”

            He eyed her, pupils wide. “Good God… you’re so pretty—so fuckin’ beautiful, layin’ there, beggin’ me to touch ya…” His tongue flashed out and licked a thick stripe all the way down her cunt, and Lydia didn’t have the energy to be mortified at the pathetic mewl that came out of her mouth. He smirked. “S’okay, dolly… I’m gonna give it to ya now,” he placated her, and then buried his face in her, eager, giving her no buildup at all. His fingers spread her wide open and his tongue licked and swirled; his fingers stroked rhythmically at the sides of her before two of them found their way inside, and then he began to fuck her, closing his mouth around her clit and sucking at the same time.

            She screamed.

            Bucky moaned, doubling his efforts, and her thighs began to quiver. “Wait—B-Bucky-”

            “It’s okay, doll,” he murmured, his words a little muffled. “Come all over my face. I want you to. Come now, for me.”

            She did. He rode out her orgasm, gently massaging her ass and hips, and then pushed himself up, grabbing one of her legs and lifting it until her heel rested on his shoulder. “You sure ya want this, Squeaky?”

            Lydia nodded, frantic.

            “If I hurt ya, tell me to stop.” Bucky watched her face for a moment. “God, you’re beautiful, doll… so beautiful… give me your hand, baby, hold on. You ready?”

            “Yes!”

            All at once, he thrust in, filling her completely, and then stilled. “Oh… oh, Lydia… you’re so tight… so fuckin’ tight and wet for me. So damn fuckin’ beautiful. You feel so good. Oh, damn it.” He dipped his head, still muttering, and Lydia watched the errant lock of hair in the center of his forehead tremble as he thrust into her again. Her muscles flexed, and he fell into a rhythm, clutching her leg reverently to his chest. “Do you like this, doll? Does it feel good?”

            Lydia tried to say something, but he snapped his hips, grinning at her, and she squeaked. Bucky gave a weak, breathy laugh, his thrusts a little sporadic now, his muttering turning to low groaning as they both neared their orgasms. His finger slid in between them to stroke her clit.

            She came with a small cry; Bucky followed with a strangled bellow and ripped himself away from her. His come splattered on her stomach and thigh and hit the mattress, and his lengthy moan as he came down from his own climax nearly made her come again.

            “Oh, Squeaky… baby doll…”

            Lydia shifted slightly as he rolled away from her, curling into his arms. “You don’t think I’m some sort of… slut, do you?”

            “ _What?_ No!” He stroked her hair. “I don’t have any intention of lettin’ you go, doll. I want ya to stay with me until I leave. You’re my girl now… right?”

            “Yes, Sarge… I’m your girl.”

            “Good… ‘cause I wanna do that again.”

            Lydia giggled and thrust her hips up in lewd invitation, kissing his neck and collarbone. Her brain only had time for one thought before Bucky buried himself in her again:

 

            _He makes love like a young man who’s never had a worry in the world._


	6. Un Peu, Beaucoup E

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: More existential conversations, fighting between characters, swearing, fluff at the end, slight, slight, slight smut if you look really hard

As promised, Bucky and Lydia showed up to Grandma Rumlow’s Italian Kitchen for the family dinner at promptly six o’clock the next night. Aside from Alexandrina yelping for no apparent reason at the entrance, they managed to make it upstairs without any serious incident. Once inside, they were quickly bombarded by an entire family of vivacious Italians, who had clearly gotten out of church and needed to burn off some energy. They were introduced to “cousin this” and “aunt that” and “my nephew’s wife’s sister who lives in New Jersey, but she’s still family so we invited her anyway.” Lydia found herself looking at all of the males in the family, wondering who was that one’s cousin and uncle… and which one would eventually be responsible for the birth of the person who would aid in the torture of the young man at her side.

            Marco and his wife, who insisted on the four guests calling them _Nonna and Nonno,_ were currently exclaiming over Alexandrina and congratulating Steve, who looked red and uncomfortable but who clearly liked them enough to tolerate it. Alexandrina clung to his hand, shy as she always was around new people, and Steve remained just as quiet until one of the cousins blurted out something disparaging about her six or so inches on Steve. “Don’t tease her,” he scolded, and though his voice remained calm, nearly toneless, the people immediately closest to them went silent. “She’s fine. I like her the way she is.”

            That earned him a kiss on the cheek, and Steve promptly turned purple. Bucky noticed and whooped; proud until he saw that Steve, discomfited, distanced himself from Alexandria for the next half hour. Unable to stand it, he gave a gentle parting brush to Lydia’s shoulder and dragged Steve determinedly into the corner. “Stevie, she really likes ya. What are ya doin’? Pay more attention to her.”

            “I just said-”

            “Yeah, and then you ignored her for thirty minutes. Her face _lights up_ when she looks at ya. Every time.” He nudged Steve’s shoulder, an edge of harshness in it. “This could be the girl, Stevie! Don’t ya fuck this up!”

            “Watch your language!” Steve hissed, looking around at the family.

            “Aw, Stevie, not the point.” Bucky looked his friend in the eye. “She’s not hangin’ around because she feels sorry for ya. She honestly _likes_ ya. Maybe she wants a kiss.” He smirked when Steve went a little whiter. “Stop your pity party and get on with it already.”

            Steve sighed. “Buck, why would she want me?”

            He just rolled his eyes. “Why don’t ya fuckin’ _ask_ her?”

            Steve shot a nervous glance at Alexandrina, who was attempting to have a private conversation with Lydia in the opposite corner, and failing somewhat, as she had her fists stuffed in her mouth and looked as though she might start squealing gleefully at any second. Lydia’s facial expression matched Steve’s exactly.

            Everyone was quickly pulled out of their respective conversations and brought eagerly back into the fold; they were poked, prodded, teased, and hugged for a good forty-five minutes until dinner was ready. The meal was hearty, the guests were jovial, and Bucky shouted just as loudly as the family. At one point, Lydia and Alexandrina’s eyes met, and each could tell that the other was thinking the same thing: _What the hell happened?_

            At the end of the night, Steve got a hug that was just as rib-cracking as everyone else’s, and then Bucky deliberately separated himself from Alexandrina and Steve, throwing a look of firm adjuration in his friend’s direction before turning the corner, going out of sight. Alexandrina caught up with Steve, and they headed in the direction of the Stark mansion.

            “So… were things any better with Howard today?”

            “Yeah, a little,” Alexandrina answered, sighing a little. “He is really trying. We didn’t talk about anything… inflammatory.” She bit her lip. “He’s still kind of… overbearing, though.”

            “He’s probably just happy to have you back.”

            “Well, it’s exhausting.”

            Steve snorted. “Drina… I need to ask you something. And, I really want… no, _need_ you to answer me honestly.”

            “Steve, you don’t have to-”

            “Yes, I do. Please let me finish.”

            Alexandrina shut her mouth.

            “Why are you still hanging around me, Drina? Why do you _want_ to spend time with me? I’m—I’m nobody. I’m 4F. I’m… pointless. I have fifty different things wrong with me and—Jesus, I’m probably not going to live past thirty. I’m more than likely sterile—I mean, I’ve never tried to find out, but even if I’m not, I’m not really healthy enough to…” He blushed. “I’m not healthy enough for a normal relationship with a woman. My heart… my heart can’t take it.” He was a furious shade somewhere between red and purple now; rage, frustration, and humiliation were all struggling on his face. “I can’t work a decent job to take care of you, and I know you’re a Stark, but I couldn’t live off you, either. You could have your pick of men, Drina—you’re smart and beautiful and you’ve got everything and I… I can’t give you anything.”

            “That is _not_ true,” Alexandrina contradicted venemously, and held up her hand before Steve could protest. “Now _you_ let _me_ finish. I do not give a flying rat’s ass if you’re 4F, Steve.” She ignored his blatantly horrified expression. “I don’t care. You are kind and earnest, and selfless, and brave, and so smart. You are the most sincere person I’ve ever met. You said it yourself; I’m a Stark. And every other man I’ve met either thinks I’m an arrogant bitch who needs to be taken down a couple of pegs, or wants me for my money.” Alexandrina fought down the swell of emotion in her chest. “I’m a Stark, and I hate it. I hate the restrictions and the events and the socializing and the insincerity. I hate not being able to do what I want, when I want, and being told who I should spend time with. I’d give anything to not be who I am and-” Alexandrina bit her lip, no longer sure if she hated being her old self or this self more. “You’ve shown me that there’s… so much more to life. I don’t need sex or kids and I have money. I just want _you.”_

Steve was rendered utterly speechless. Alexandrina’s decision was made.

            “I know people who aren’t worth a quarter of you, Steven Grant Rogers,” she informed him firmly. “It doesn’t matter how tall you are, or how sick you are, or what you can’t do. You _can_ be a good person, and that’s more than I can say for most of the people I deal with on a daily basis.” They had reached the front door of the Stark mansion, and Alexandrina eyed it distastefully. “So tomorrow, I’m taking you to the pictures and I’m paying because you paid for everything at the Expo, and I don’t wanna hear another fucking word about how you’re apparently not good enough for me, because it’s bullshit and I don’t deserve you.” She planted a determined kiss on his mouth before he had a chance to respond, and he was so startled that he kissed her back. It was clumsy, but it was an effort, and she smiled against his lips and pulled back as Howard came out, then pulled back, waving goodbye and flouncing past her brother without looking at him.

            “So… Al—uh… how was your night?”

            “It was a lot of fun,” Alexandrina answered, keeping ninety-nine percent of the suspicious edge out of her voice. “What did you do all night?”

            “Worked in the lab. So… another date with…?”

            “Steve.”

            “You really like him, don’t you?”

            “Yes, I do.”

            Howard took a breath, preparing himself. “…Alexandrina… people are talking… no, listen to me; it’s just that… he’s not suitable.”

            “Don’t make me repeat myself,” Alexandrina muttered under breath, and then snipped, louder, “I don’t care what people think.”

            “You need to. You’re still a Stark.”

            “I don’t want to _be_ a Stark!” she burst out, and all of her frustration at being thrown into this situation, knowing what was going to happen—and being unable to do a thing about it—suddenly bubbled to the surface and washed over her. “I cannot believe you and I have been together for two damn days and you’re already lecturing me like a kid! All you want is for me to be your good little sister and drape myself on your arm at all those functions and marry that _creep_ Obadiah and pop out his babies! I’m not an ornament, Howard, and guess what? I don’t give a fuck about the company and I don’t give a fuck about being a Stark! My life is mine, and I like Steve, and I’m here for him, and you have no right to try and take that from me!”

            “You’re lucky you get to have your own life,” Howard spat after a moment of heavy silence. “But then again, you’ve always been the black sheep of the family and you’ve _never_ cared about Mom or Dad or me, or what you did to any of us-”

            “What the fuck are you talking about?” Alexandrina shrieked. “Don’t be such a damn martyr-”

            “I’m being a responsible brother who’s trying to do what’s right for his family!”

            “You’re being an arrogant son of a bitch who doesn’t care what I want!”

            “And you are _unbelievably_ selfish!”

            “Why, because I choose to love who I want to and don’t want to marry some asshole who only wants to fuck me and take my money? Just because you were too much of a coward to tell Lydia how you feel about her doesn’t mean you need to make me miserable, too!”

            Howard stepped back from her, mortification dawning on his face. Alexandrina clapped a hand over her mouth in horror, her brain screaming at her to figure out where the hell _that_ had come from, and before Howard could pounce, she turned and ran right back out the door, going straight to Steve’s apartment and pounding on his door.

            “Drina?”

            “Steve, I’m sorry—I had nowhere else to go—Howard and I got in a fight and I think I’m going to throw up-”

            “Please don’t,” he blurted automatically, but opened the door wide and took Alexandrina’s hands, guiding her in. Bit by bit, Alexandrina told him what had happened, leaving out only the revelation about Lydia. Steve listened thoughtfully, gnawing on his lip.

            “I just—I just can’t stand him—he’s so judgemental and he’s such a pain in the ass, and all he does is try to control me and I can’t stand it. All he gives a fuck about is the company and how it looks and what’s best for _it_ and he never thinks of anything else. He just wants me to be his little dress-up doll and follow him around and give up my entire life for the company like he did, and I can’t do it. I can’t be a Stark! I want my own life. I never asked for _any_ of this!”

            “Are you sure it’s Howard that’s bothering you, Drina?”

            She froze. Steve lifted one shoulder in a shrug.

            “I…”

            “What’s on your mind?”

            “I just… I think you should know…”

            “What?” Steve handed her a glass of water and sat down on his couch next to her.

            “He’s… in love with Lydia,” Alexandrina blurted, her face turning red. “I blabbed it, I shouldn’t have said it, I was mean about it… but that can’t happen and I just kinda… drove the knife in. I feel horrible.”

            Steve paled. “Well, I can’t exactly help there, but…”

            Alexandrina covered her face.

            “You can’t run away from who you are, Drina.”

            “But I’m not-” She caught herself. What was she going to say? _I’m not actually who you think I am, my last name isn’t Stark and I’m from an entirely different world and I didn’t ask to come here, and I’m pissed about it and all I want is you._

“You wouldn’t be who you are if you weren’t a Stark—smart, and irreverant, and hilarious, and strong. I like you for who you are, and I don’t want you to change that.”

            “Oh, Steve…”

            “I know you don’t _want_ to be a Stark, Drina,” he continued. “But you should accept that you are. You have a legacy, and I know it’s a burden, but you can do so much good with it. That’s really what Howard is trying to do. And you know, he didn’t get a choice, either. He’s a Stark, and he has to live with it, just like you do. His legacy was passed down to him ad he’s doing his best to fulfill it.”   

            “I know, but why doesn’t he care about anything else?” Alexandrina bit her lip. “At this rate, the only reason he’ll have a family is so he can have an heir to the company. He’ll destroy whatever life they have.”

            “Maybe he thinks that’s the only reason he _can_ have a family,” Steve mused. “He doesn’t get much of a choice in his life, like I said, and the company is really the only thing he’s got. It’s all your parents gave him, and he never got a chance to see any other way to live his life. You can’t ask him to break the cycle when he doesn’t know how, Drina. He’s desperate to do good in the world and live up to the idea his parents had of him, and he put any dreams for himself away because no one ever told him it was okay to have both.”

            Alexandrina’s heart sank.

            “…I’d give anything to have that kind of power… to be able to do that much good.”

            “You will someday,” Alexandrina whispered.

            Steve chuckled, bitter. “I don’t have many somedays left,” he spat. “I know Howard doesn’t exactly like me. He’s right not to.”

            “Don’t you dare-”

            “I’ve said it before and I’ll say it until you understand. I’m going to die really young.” He slouched, gripping his couch in frustration. “I’ve got so many things wrong with me; one of them is gonna kill me. I told you, there’s nothin’ I can give you, and Howard wants you to have better than me.”

            Alexandrina scoffed at that, and then caught his eye. “You can give me the years you have left,” she responded, her voice firm. “You can give me yourself. I want to be with _you,_ Steve. I don’t want anything from you except that you want to be with me, too.”

            “I do.” His voice cracked, and he wheezed, his breath coming with effort. “But you’ll just end up hurting and alone.”

            “You don’t know that,” Alexandrina answered, and now she was the one wheezing, coughing violently to stop the rush of oncoming tears. “But if I do, the time I spend with you will make it worth it.”

            Steve kissed her.

            Caught by surprise, Alexandrina nearly yanked herself backward and fell over, but after a second, she brought her hands up to cup his face and guided him until his kiss wasn’t so desperate. Steve brought her closer, and she scooted forward and threw her legs over his lap. She felt a brief, humorous rumble in his throat—perhaps he was laughing at their strange position—and then, to her absolute shock, he licked the hollow at the center of her neck and left a small hickey. At the look on her face, his lip twitched playfully. “I’m a virgin, not inept,” he joked, and then made a sudden lunge for his inhaler.

            Alexandrina touched her newly made hickey, a trace of awe still on her face. When Steve had gotten his air back, she leaned forward and left the same mark on him, in the same spot, and thought happily that it would definitely bruise by the next morning.


	7. Un Peu, Beaucoup F

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Swearing, angst, some smut

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's taken me so long to update! I've been having trouble logging in.

The rest of the week was spent between states of drowsy bliss and desperate need; Lydia, despite all her better judgement, went over to what she supposed was her flat, grabbed some clothes and other necessities, and went straight back to Bucky’s, dumping the suitcase in the middle of the floor and leaping into his arms. Alexandrina spent more and more time with Steve, often sitting as he drew her; sometimes she would find drawings of herself in his sketchbook that she hadn’t even sat for, and would sit and admire his skill.

            Both of them, almost without realizing it, were quietly mourning what was to be lost before it had gone.

            On the night before Bucky left, he took Lydia dancing, and cajoled Alexandrina into bringing Steve along so they could make a double date of it. Reluctant to dance, though, Steve sat in a shadowy corner—he was quite shocked to find that Alexandrina didn’t mind sitting with him—and watched Bucky attempt to teach a clumsy Lydia all of the dances.

            “No, Squeaky, to your _left—_ ow.”

            “Oh, God, I’m sorry. I really shouldn’t be doing this, Sarge-”

            “But you’re so pretty when you dance!”

            Lydia rolled her eyes. “Do shut up, James.”

            Bucky actually giggled. “Oh, it’s real names now, is it? Well, _Lydia,_ it’s not a lie. You are pretty when ya dance. You’re pretty when ya do everything.” He smirked knowingly, his eyes crinkling, and Lydia blushed, remembering the way she’d writhed under his hands and mouth the night before. “Even when you’re smackin’ me in the face for wakin’ you up.”

            “I really am sorry about that,” she apologized for the twentieth time, her blush deepening.

            “You…” He drew the word out thoughtfully, his expression somewhere between wary and intrigued. “You’re a different sorta dame. You’re… special.”

            Lydia’s heart stuttered. The smile had left his eyes now, and the grey had gone a little darker, the color of an oncoming storm. “I’ve never met anyone like you,” he told her, his words measured, his voice soft and deep. “You’re so smart… so… mature.” His brow furrowed as he tried to search for words and was unable to find them. “I would say a young, good-looking, twenty-six year old military man such as myself has a lot of time left to find a dame and settle down… impending shipment aside…” He winked. “But I don’t think I want to.”

            For a brief moment, Lydia and Bucky were the only two people in the room. Lydia found herself transfixed by the errant curl of hair in the center of his forehead, which never seemed to stay in place despite his efforts, now hiding just under his irreverantly crooked hat. His shoulders rose and fell, and he reached down and tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear, trailing his fingers down her jaw. Lydia took a breath, ready to speak—

            “Look at us!” Bucky suddenly joked, and the moment was broken. “In just a week, you’ve turned me into a committed man and Steve’s a… Jesus, he’s cuttin’ a rug on the dance floor!”

            Lydia followed his eyes and saw Steve and Alexandrina, dancing comfortably, still somewhat in the corner where no one would notice their awkward height difference. A delighted grin spread on Lydia’s face, mirrored on Bucky’s, and they both giggled. “Ya may be different, dolly, but you’re… you’re both good for us,” Bucky said, kissing her cheek. “I gotta say… I didn’t know I could fall for a dame this hard, and this fast, but… I’m glad I did.”

            Lydia gave him a trembling smile.

            Bucky bought her ice cream that night before they went back to his place, and they managed to last exactly thirty-one minutes, sitting at his kitchen table and sharing the rest of the bottle of wine, before Bucky cracked. He lunged forward, kissed Lydia, and then proceeded to fuck her until the only thing she could do was breathlessly sob his name. When he was done, he picked her up, carried her back to his bed, and made love to her until she was exhausted, half-asleep on his chest.

            Lydia awoke a couple of hours later and heard soft, strangled sobbing coming from him. She just managed to keep her back to him and stay still, but her heart hammered traitorously against her chest until she couldn’t breathe. _I’m not enough,_ she thought to herself, and though she tried to choke off the thought, as she had all week, this time, the sound of his helpless, hidden weeping was stronger than her own resolve. _I’ll never be enough. I’m not here to save him—I can’t do that; he’d have to dodge the draft now, and I won’t be able to stop him from rejoining Steve. I lost everything I cared about at home and it’s all going to be in vain. Jesus_ Christ, _it’s been a week and I love him, but I can’t save him._ She took a shaky breath, trying to be quiet. _If I’m dying and this is the six minutes of brain activity I have before everything shuts down, I’d really like them to end now, because this is bullshit and I can’t watch him be in pain another minute._

She’d fallen asleep with tears on her own face.

            He’d made love to her twice more, in the early hours of the morning, just as the clock struck three. The world was still and silent; the only sound Lydia heard was the echoing sound of Bucky’s murmuring, soft and careful. Lydia felt as though their bodies were slipping around each other, _through_ each other, and her orgasms rolled through her like easy ocean waves to their distant shore.

            She awoke again as rays of sunlight peeked through his curtains. Bucky was asleep next to her, spread out on his back, one arm casually thrown over his head, and the other bare centimeters away from Lydia’s left shoulder. The sheets were entwined around his legs; he was naked, sweetly exposed and vulnerable. Still in a slight daze, Lydia reached over and stroked Bucky’s forehead.

            His lips curled into a smile.

 

“Hey doll… Squeaky? Please don’t hit me; I just wanna know if ya want coffee.”

            Lydia made an unintelligible noise and rolled over. “Yeah… coffee… time?”

            “It’s eight, baby doll. I gotta be at the station in an hour and a half.”

            “Steve?”

            “Yeah, he and Drina are comin’ to see me off.”

            “Food.”

            “There’s food. I made us eggs, bacon, and pancakes.”

            “You cook?”

            “Yeah. Why don’t ya get up and have some?”

            “Okay.” She sat up, rubbed her eyes, and reached for her robe. Bucky made her a plate and waited anxiously for her verdict. Lydia came into the kitchen, sat down, and picked up a piece of bacon. Lydia eyed it, mock-critically, and put it in her mouth. “…Oh, that’s _perfect.”_

Bucky broke out into a pleased grin, his nose scrunching ecstatically. Together, they demolished the entirety of what he had made, their hands linked tightly together across the table. Neither of them could bring themselves to speak—a first for Bucky, Lydia thought, a little sardonically. The clock ticked placidly behind them, every second like a stab to Lydia’s heart. She would never see this man—this bright-eyed, easygoing, unabashedly sweet, unexpectedly vulnerable man—again.

            Eventually, Bucky got up and went to dress, and Lydia did the dishes, trying to block out the rattling thump of her heartbeat with the flow of the water.

            “Squeaky?”

            She turned, and despite her agony, her lips spread into a smile. Bucky was back in his uniform, and if possible, he looked even more dashing than he had when Lydia had first seen him.

            “I love it when ya look at me like that.” He took a few steps and closed the distance to her, wrapping her in his arms.

            “Like what?”

            “Like I’m your whole world.”

            “You are.” She gripped his arm a little tighter, the enormity of the statement hitting her all at once.

            “What is it?”

            “It’s true. You are.”

            “I can’t be.” He smirked. “Ya gotta do somethin’ while I’m gone.”

            “I’ll… do my bit,” she answered, her smile slightly mischievous.

            “Oh! That reminds me-” Bucky began digging in the pockets of his uniform. “Here it is!”

            “What?”

            “This,” he told her, and held up a key. “It’s a spare key to my place, love. I was hopin’ ya could look after it for me. I know ya got your own place and all, but I don’t wanna end my lease just yet… I don’t know how long I’m gonna be gone. It’s all paid for, so ya don’t have to worry about that, and I told my landlord I was givin’ ya a key. I just… I was hopin’ to maybe have a place come home to… where you’d be waitin’.”

            “Are you asking me to move in with you? After a week?”

            Bucky eyed her speculatively, then broke out into a sheepish grin. “Our relationship hasn’t exactly been conventional, doll.” His lopsided grin morphed into a smirk, and Lydia blushed. “Besides, it might be more like years. I gotta go fight a war first.”

            Lydia inhaled. “…Bucky…”

            “Yeah?” They’d frozen where they stood, Bucky’s fingers entwined playfully in Lydia’s apron strings.

            “I…”

            _“Yeah?”_

            “I… I wish you didn’t have to go,” she finally blurted out, cursing her cowardice.

            He watched her, searching her face, his eyes a steely, challenging grey, almost accusing her as he dared her to say what she really meant. “…I wish I didn’t have to go, either,” he responded, and his eyelashes swept low as he blinked rapidly. “I wish I could stay here and take ya on double dates with Drina and Stevie, and get to know ya, and marry ya and fuck ya into my mattress every night.” He slid a slow, deliberate finger across the underside of her breast and smirked in satisfaction as her eyes widened and her mouth parted a little. “We’d buy a house and have babies and I’d go to work and ya could write your books and we’d grow old together.” He sighed. “I want that. I do. But… but we gotta go, sweetheart.”

            Lydia stepped away from him and put the plate she had been holding back into the sink before she could drop it. “…I’ll go get dressed.”

 

Alexandrina and Steve were already waiting at the train station when Bucky and Lydia arrived. Bucky’s train was due any minute.

            He took Alexandrina aside. “Thank ya for bein’ so good to Stevie,” he said, his voice low; he shot a glance at his best friend, who was staring longingly at a poster of Uncle Sam that screamed, _I WANT YOU!_ “It’s good for him to have someone to take care of him. Especially someone like you.”

            “I’ll make sure he’s okay,” Alexandrina promised, fighting a limp in her throat. She looked quickly at Lydia, the unspoken question hanging in the air between them: _There really is no way to stop this, is there?_

Bucky pecked her cheek and Alexandrina blushed.

            Lydia smiled at them, then fought down the lump in her own throat as Bucky moved to her, wrapped his arms around her, and spun her around. “No tears, baby doll,” he admonished her gently, wiping a stray one off her face. “I want the last thing I see to be your smile.”

            “Oh, Bucky…” It was a half-sob, and it was lost in the sound of Bucky’s train pulling in. All four of their heads turned toward it as if pulled by a string, and then Bucky mustered up a smile.

            “I’ll be back real soon. I’m gonna have a nice Parisian ring for ya, doll… if that’s what ya want.”

            Lydia kissed him then, cupping his face and driving her body into his as through she could meld herself into his being. Bucky responded in kind, but as the train whistled, he pulled away, moving like metal to a magnet toward Steve.

            “Ya don’t want me to pick ya up and twirl ya too, do ya?”

            “Shut up, Buck.”

            He picked up his bag instead. “Don’t do anythin’ stupid until I get back, Stevie.”

            “How can I? You’re takin’ all the stupid with you.” It was a parting shot at Bucky’s back, and he froze, then turned around slowly, his eyebrow raised.

            “You’re a punk.”

            “Well, you’re a jerk,” Steve quipped back, accepting Bucky’s bear hug.

            “You always gotta get the last word in, don’t ya?”

            “I can’t get anything else, and I can’t come along.” Steve sighed. No one noticed the shadowy figure in a white coat watching them from a corner.

            The train whistle blew again, and Bucky stumbled a little as he walked away.

            As he climbed on and passed through a car, trying to find a seat, a kind old lady wearing a bright blue headscarf moved over so he could stick his head out the window. “Hey, Squeaky! Send me a smile, would ya?”

            After a brief struggle, Lydia did. The train began to move.

            “And remember that I love ya!”

            Alexandrina let out a low groan. The lady wearing the headscarf snatched at the back of Bucky’s jacket as the train picked up speed, and he smacked his head on the top of the window. Lydia burst out laughing despite herself, and knew without a doubt that it had been the last thing Bucky saw.

            Steve coughed violently, startling both the girls, but Alexandrina caught him surreptitiously wiping the corner of his eye and decided not to fuss over him. He checked his watch, regaining his composure, and then looked at them. “Howard told me and Drina that he’d take us out for lunch after this, he informed Lydia, and Alexandrina nodded, hoping her friend would take them up on the offer of a distraction. “So… if you want anything to eat, Howard’s gonna be the one to pay for it.”

            Lydia made it to the nearest trash can in the nick of time.

 


	8. Tendrement, Pasionement A

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Lettery, allusions to smut, heart to heart, mentions of Steve's issues

**Late June, 1943**

 

_Dear my beautiful lovely, gorgeous doll,_

_I miss you so much every day. I hope you know that. Thank you a million times over for the photograph and the lock of hair you sent me. Now I’ve got you and Stevie (and Mr. Bear) with me, and it makes everything so much better._

_They’ve got me doing interesting stuff over here. I’m right in the middle of training, so I’m not sure if I’m gonna make it back as soon as I thought. I’m so sorry, dolly, I really want to see you. I’ve sent you some presents, though—I hope they let you have them!_

_I’ve been thinking about you every single day since I’ve been gone. I think about how I want to take you out for a movie and ice cream, and how I’d love to go to a nice dinner and then take you back to my apartment and kiss you and touch you and fuck you until I don’t know where you end and I start. You’d reach up and put your fingers in my hair and thrust your hips against mine because you’d be so breathless you couldn’t beg me anymore._

_Look at me, turning into a writer, doll! Aren’t you proud? I’d better stop, though, I forgot they’re reading these letters to censor them._

_Anyway, I was going to say before I got sidetracked that I think about you—about our relationship—every day, too. I’ll be the first to say I don’t understand what’s between us, exactly. I told you that. I was drawn to you, doll. I knew you were special. From the moment you tripped over your shoe and swore like a mobster, I knew I loved you. You’re a different sort of dame—I’ve also said that before—and it’s not just because—oh wait, censors. I’ve never felt like this about anyone, except maybe Stevie, but I love him a different way, like a brother. I spent so much time thinking about why I got so attached to you when we first met, because I was so desperate to figure it out, but now, I don’t care. I’m just going to let you sweep me along._

_I’ll write again soon._

_Remember that I love you,_

_Bucky_

_Dear Bucky,_

_I’m so glad you got the photo and the hair. I thought that was a little disturbing, but apparently, all the girls are doing it. Did you put the photo in your pocket? And what do you friends think of Mr. Bear?_

_You really should remember that they’re censoring your letters. I’m surprised they didn’t just black the whole last one out! But you are becoming a writer, and I’m so proud of you. I’d let you do all that to me, and then I’d return the favor._

_I’ve been thinking about us, too. Would it help if I said I was just as drawn to you as you were to me? The sight of you in your uniform in the library was too much for me. That was when I knew I loved you. I’ll be honest—I didn’t want to, God help me, because I knew you would be going off to fight and that I would spend months—maybe years—alone, but I couldn’t stop it. I loved you then, and I always will. You are my everything, and it’s useless to try and understand it._

_I’ve started a new book. Do you want me to send you some?_

_I remember. I love you too,_

_Lydia_

_“Jo?”_

_“Yes, Steve?” Alexandrina was deeply buried in Lydia’s new book, lost in descriptions of the cell phones and computers she had told Bucky about, missing her home, and didn’t hear what he said next._

_“Drina.”_

_“Oh—sorry,” she murmured, restacking the sheaf of papers. “You were saying?”_

_“I met a man.”_

_Alexandrina blinked. “Well, I always thought when that happened it would be Bucky, and I mean—I’m totally up for that, but Lydia might-”_

_Steve went an unbelievable shade of purple. “He’s a_ _doctor,_ _Drina.”_

_“Oooh,” Alexandrina teased, mock knowledgeably. “How many of those do you have now?”_

_“Honestly, I lost count ages ago,” Steve muttered wryly. “But this one is different. He knows Howard. He says he can cure me. Make it so I can go fight.”_

_Alexandrina sat up, feeling rather inappropriately as though she had been hit by a train. “…How?”_

_“There’s… there’s some… a serum, I guess it is… that they would inject me with. The doctor said it can cure me. Make me better. Make me into ‘the perfect soldier.’”_

_“I don’t want you to be the perfect soldier,” Alexandrina admonished him, feeling her chest constrict when his eyes lit up with excited anticipation. “I just want you to be the man I love.”_

_He opened his mouth to respond, but paused when he digested what she’d said. “…You love me?”_

_“How could I not?”_

_Steve searched for sarcasm or hesitation in her answer, and finding none, he brought his eyes up to hers; the direct stare made Alexandrina squirm uncomfortably, and her cheeks warmed, betraying her. “I’ve done nothing to merit that,” he finally told her._

_“Don’t bullshit me,” she snapped, and raised an eyebrow in return for the openmouthed stare she got for her language. “I don’t want the conventional things, Steve. I’ve told you this. I knew what I was getting into when I decided to go steady with you, and I don’t need to hear the litany of what’s wrong with you and what you can’t do again. I want you. I love_ _you._ _That’s enough.”_

_“…You don’t want me to do this, do you?”_

_“…No,” she finally burst out, and bit down hard on her bottom lip. She was nearly unable to form a coherent thought, but underneath the turmoil, was blatantly terrified of how deeply she loved this man who was nothing but Steve Rogers—not the Steve Rogers portrayed in the comics, or the movies, and not Captain America, but_ _her_ _Steve Rogers. “I love you just the way you are. You don’t have to prove anything to me. You never will. And I don’t want you to do this because of some ridiculous idea that you’re not good enough, because you_ _are._ _And maybe I’m being selfish, but you shouldn’t have to go over there and fight and die in a stupid war to prove that to anyone, least of all yourself. I like you where you are, too—right here with me.”_

_As she spoke, Alexandrina was met with an ominous silence, and emotions crossed his face in rapid succession—blatant disagreement, tenderness, perhaps pity… and disappointment. Alexandrina’s face went gradually paler, and she felt her stomach drop as though she’d been hit; she was completely unable to decide if she deserved that disappointment for not being able to stop him, to save him—or if she deserved it for all but outright asking him to turn his back on who he was, and a large part of why she loved him in the first place._

_“Steve-”_

_“Please don’t, Drina.”_

_“No, I wasn’t done. Please let me finish. I don’t_ _want_ _you to go—I’m selfish, I know that—but… I will support you whatever you decide to do. You’ve heard what I have to say now, but really, what matters is what you want. You’re going to be the one who goes through whatever they do to you, and you’ll live with the consequences. In the end, it’s up to you.”_

_He licked his lips, his eyes hooded and thoughtful. “That’s not entirely true, Drina. You’ll have to live with whatever happens to me. It’s not just about me anymore. I… I love you too, and it wouldn’t be fair for me to not take you into account, especially with all you’ve given me.” He reached out and soothingly stroked the back of her hand. “But Drina, you know my limits. I’ve tried to tell you, many times, because I thought you deserved better than me. And you still do. If it’s losing me to death that you’re afraid of… well, that’s going to happen anyway, sweetheart. All you’d get if I didn’t do this is maybe ten more years, if I don’t have a heart attack.” He squeezed Alexandrina’s hand to stop her protesting, and she quieted, reluctantly. “Fighting and risking death in the war is worth it to me. Not just because it’s the right thing to do—it_ _is—_ _but because… if I do fight and die, then I won’t die at home, in bed, a shell of myself, in excruciating pain… and if I fight and come back, then we get to live the life we both want. A life together.”_

_“Steve…”_

_“Yes?”_

_“I need to tell you…” She stopped._

_He waited._

_“I… I think… you’re right. You should do this. When would you… start?”_

_“Well… I wouldn’t get the serum right away. I’d need to go through military training first, to get my body stronger, so they can see if I could possibly withstand the… effects.”_

_“They want to put you through_ _military training?”_

_Steve grinned wryly. “The doctor also said something about wanting to see what kind of man I am, so…”_

_“Well, when would you leave?”_

_“If I told Howard I wanted to go through with it today, I’d leave for training with the next group of boys in a couple of weeks, under the special supervision of Howard’s friend. I think he said her name was Peggy Carter.”_

_To her utterly unexpected dismay, Alexandrina felt a panicked stab of jealousy in her stomach._

_“Drina? Are you okay?”_

_“Uh… yes,” she answered, a little absentmindedly. “I just… that’s not a lot of time.”_

_“It’s enough for me to get my affairs in order.”_

_“I meant to be with you, silly,” Alexandrina giggled, and flicked his shoulder._

_“Oh.” He kissed her cheek. “I’ll write you every day.”_

_“I know. It’ll only be a few months, right? And then you’ll be home to get the treatment?”_

_“Well, I don’t know where that’ll happen, but I’ll want you there will me. So I’ll still see you soon.”_

_Alexandrina sighed. “You’ll get all perfect and meet a gorgeous woman and you’ll stop caring about me.”_

_“Now, that’s not true,” Steve admonished her. “That would be incredibly low of me, and I’d hope you would think better of me than that.” He cupped her cheek. “Besides, no other dame could do for me what you have. You… you’ve shown me that I’m not utterly worthless, in a completely different way than Buck ever could. You showed me that I could be loved and valued as a man, not just as someone’s best friend or kid brother. No other dame could have done that.”_

_Alexandrina wiped the tears off her face, and thankfully, he did not make a big deal of the fact that she was rapidly turning into a blubbering mess. “I really, really love you,” she choked out._

_“And I love you for that.”_

_Dearest darling doll,_

_I love you and miss you so goddamn much it hurts. I’ve got your picture in the grip of my gun, and Steve’s picture in my pocket, next to my heart. That is not to say that you’re less important than Steve, please don’t think that, but I’m just one of the guys who is lucky enough to have_ _two_ _pictures, and I thought it was more “badass”, as you say, to have your picture in my gun. You are more badass than Stevie._

_You use the most unique expressions. It’s one of the reasons I love you so much._

_How is Steve? Is he controlling his stupidity? Are he and Drina doing okay? God, I wish I could see all of you. I get so damn bored some days, because it’s just paperwork or geography or history and my brain just shuts down. I honestly have no idea why you would ever want to be with me, Squeaky. I don’t have a fancy education like you and I’ll never have a nice, cushy job where I wear a suit and tie and bring home enough money to shower you in the things you deserve. You’d be better off with Howard Stark._

_Oh shit, please don’t leave me. You’re the only person besides Stevie that I feel at home around. You’re the only dame I’ve ever opened up to._

_Jesus Christ, now I’ve done it, haven’t I?_

_I have to go, honey. I’ll write again soon. Remember that I love you,_

_Bucky_

_James Buchanan Barnes,_

_DO NOT BE RIDICULOUS, THERE IS NO WAY I WOULD EVER LEAVE YOU FOR HOWARD STARK. The man is an inherently good person, but he is also an egomaniac with far too much money and no idea what to do with it. Not to mention, the gadgets in his lab are more his family than a real family would ever be. Absolutely not worth it._

_Steve and Drina are fine. They’re more openly adorable than we are, and God, it’s disgusting._

_Thank you for recognizing that I am indeed a badass. I like the idea of my picture being in the grip of your gun; it is quite appropriate. Apparently, that was done quite a lot with photos during World The Great War. Do a lot of men still do that?_

_I know what I deserve, Bucky, and you’re giving me all of it. I don’t want a fancy house, or an expensive car, or clothes in the latest fashion. I want to be loved, and valued for who I am, and know that I can rely on the person I choose to be with. You have done all of that and more._

_And don’t ever think you need a fancy education to be smart. You are better at math than I could ever hope to be, you speak four languages, and you have the sharpest mind I’ve ever seen in anyone. I think we balance each other out quite well._

_I remember. I love you, too,_

_Lydia_


	9. Tendrement, Pasionement B

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Fluff and angst, mention of Steve's issues, worried Drina, more letters

_On the day before Steve left to start his military training, there was a knock at Lydia’s door. She took the pint of Rocky Road ice cream out of the ice box and set some popcorn to pop, already knowing who she would find and what was most likely to happen._

_Her instincts were spot on. Alexandrina was standing there, and she was crying._

_“I almost told him, Lydia,” she burst out, and put a hand over her face. Lydia yanked her inside, shoved some water into her hands, and shut the door of Bucky’s flat. “I told him I didn’t want him to go do the training and get the serum, and he looked so… he was so disappointed in me and I couldn’t stand it. I wanted him to stay with me—I want to save him—but he is who he is and I can’t take that away.”_

_Lydia opened up the ice cream._

_“Why the hell are we here?” Alexandrina continued, her face contorted in frustration. “We can’t save them. We can’t help them. We can’t stop any of this. Every time I get close to trying it’s like this universe just wants to stop me. Neither of us have any special abilities that would give us some sort of advantage and now we’re just sitting here like—like useless 1940s military wives!”_

_As much as Lydia wanted to disagree with that assessment, and especially the word_ _useless,_ _she knew Alexandrina was right, and told her as much. “I have a feeling we’re both going to be thinking these kinds of things a lot in the next few months.”_

_“What am I supposed to do? I can’t just sit back and watch him become this symbol, and lose everything I care about and then listen to him die over the radio and spend the rest of whatever life I have, wherever I might have it, knowing he’s actually alive and that I can’t do anything about it—and Christ, I’m sorry, I’m making this all about myself, and you’re-” She clamped her mouth shut._

_That same thought, which was currently expressing itself in Lydia’s brain—though in much nastier terms—wandered away satisfied now that Alexandrina had said it._

_“I think I want to go home,” Alexandrina murmured after a minute._

_“I wanted to do that the second I got here,” Lydia snipped under her breath. “But we don’t know how or why we ended up here, so we can’t figure out how to get home.”_

_“Thank you, Captain Obvious.”_

_“Actually, it’s Sergeant,” Lydia retorted, and a high-pitched giggle flew out of her mouth. “You know… I tried to tell myself not to love him.”_

_“I know.”_

_Lydia thought she might have heard a thread of satisfaction in Alexandrina’s response, but kept the hateful reply to herself. “What’s going to happen?” she asked instead, not speaking to Alexandrina, but instead, to herself. “Are we going to die here? Get old without them and die?”_

_“Lydia, don’t…” It was a reedy, desperate whine._

_“I just—I don’t—I’m so out of control!” Lydia shouted, picking up one of Bucky’s wineglasses, throwing it against the wall, and shattering it. Alexandrina jumped, then put her head in her hands. “I mean—what the fuck is going on? Why are we going through this? There’s no point! And if I’m dying back at home, I would really like to go, right about now, thank you! You know, other people get to see lights and tunnels and get comforted with spiritual shit, but I fall in love with Bucky fucking Barnes even though I know exactly what’s going to happen to him! This is bullshit!”_

_“Lydia… I know you think that telling them would make things worse, but… I think we need to do something.”_

_“Drina-”_

_“Look, I know we can’t stop them exactly. Steve’s definitely getting the serum now, and Bucky’s going to be tortured. But we can tell them what’s going to happen after Bucky gets back. Lydia, you can keep him from going with Steve. And I can… I can try to get Steve out of the military and back into being Captain America after he comes back with Bucky.”_

_“Drina, he hates being Captain America. You know that.”_

_“I do, but if I tell him everything-”_

_“He’ll just be more driven to stop it. If you tell him about Red Skull and HYDRA and what they want to do with the Tesseract and what they end up doing to Bucky, even if you tell him to keep him at home, that’ll just make him more eager to go. You know he’ll get all upset about the possibilities and he’ll go rushing off to shut it down before it can even start. That’s Steve. And because Bucky’s protective and caring and he does what’s right, even if he whines about Steve’s stupidity while he’s doing it, Bucky will go right back with him, and he’ll get caught anyway.”_

_“You don’t know that.”_

_“And you either don’t know the man you claim to love or you’re willfully ignoring all of his qualities that make him who he is.”_

_Alexandrina opened her mouth, then promptly shut it._

_“Maybe… maybe we don’t have to outright tell them. Maybe we just… reshape things a little. We’re here now. It’s not just about them. They have to take us into account.” She smiled, a little bitterly. “It’s the old writers’ rule. ‘Show, don’t tell.’ Show them why they have reasons to stay. And not like that!” She shook her head at the dawning look in Alexandrina’s eye, and they both promptly burst into giggles. “Just… let them know we’re here. And that once they have the opportunity to be done… well… they should take it.”_

_Alexandrina went back to Steve’s apartment around midnight, having eaten lots of popcorn (it was different, but it was still popcorn), feeling a little guilty about the fact that she would probably wake him up coming back so late. She was, however, too desperate to spend time with_ _this_ _Steve, the normal Steve Rogers, to bring herself to care about the late hour… or Howard, who was probably beside himself with worry._ _Thank God cell phones don’t exist, or I’d have about fifty missed calls._

_When she did knock, though, he answered the door right away, and though he was in pajamas and adorably fuzzy house slippers, he was very much awake._

_“Why aren’t you sleeping?”_

_“I can’t,” he answered tersely, and she saw anticipation and nervousness cross his face before he got control of it. “Where were you? Why didn’t you go to Howard’s?”_

_“Oh my God, did he come by here and bother you? I was with Lydia, and I don’t want to deal with him right now,” she sighed, just as tersely. “Can I come in?”_

_“Of course.” He opened the door. “Do you want something to drink? Some food?”_

_“No, I want to go to bed.”_

_He raised an eyebrow._

_“Get your mind out of the gutter, Rogers. Dear Lord, I’m a bad influence on you.”_

_“Actually, that’s Bucky’s fault.” He smiled. “You can have the bed. I’ll sleep on the couch.”_

_“Steve—I was kind of hoping… I could sleep with you?” His eyes got wider and she kept speaking before he could attempt to talk her out of it. “Not like actually_ _sleep_ _with you, I know you can’t, but… you know. Sleep together. Cuddle.”_

_After a few seconds, he broke out into another smile and nodded. Alexandrina stripped down to her underwear and giggled at Steve’s scandalized face. “Did you think I was going to sleep with this dress on?”_

_He made a noise._

_“It’s much too nice to sleep in.”_

_He pulled his pajamas closer to himself, and Alexandrina’s face fell. “We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”_

_“No, it’s all right, it’s fine. I just…” He turned an odd shade of purplish red. “I’ve never seen a real woman in her underwear before. Just—just pictures.”_

_To her own surprise, Alexandrina blushed. “…I’m not much,” she murmured._

_“I beg to differ,” he blurted, and went three shades darker._

_Alexandrina hugged him, then hopped in bed. Steve moved to follow, but then paused._

_“What?”_

_“I just realized…” He backed off a step. “You’ll be the one holding me. And… I’d rather not.”_

_Alexandrina attempted to keep the hurt look off her face for his sake, but failed._

_“I’m sorry… It’s just that—I’d want to hold you. And I can’t. I’m too small.” He was staring at the floor. “I can’t hold my best girl. It’s humiliating.”_

_Alexandrina went to hug him, realized her timing was horrible, and backed off. “Then let’s figure something else out.”_

_“Like what?”_

_“I don’t know. But we have to get in bed to start.”_

_Steve’s lip twitched, then curled into a wry grin, slightly against his will, and he climbed in bed beside her. After some awkward shifting and a few stifled giggles, they ended up holding hands and sharing a large pillow._

_It was the best night’s sleep Alexandrina had ever gotten._

_The next morning, Alexandrina awoke at half-past seven, and realized that Steve had locked her in the bedroom when she tried to exit._

_“Steve?”_

_“What?”_

_“I’m locked in!”_

_“What?”_

_“You locked me in here!”_

_“I know, I’m eating breakfast! I’ll let you out when I’m done!”_

_“Steve, I know what you eat, you told me!”_

_“What?”_

_“I KNOW WHAT YOU’RE EATING. RAW LIVER, RIGHT?”_

_“Oh. Yeah! And you don’t need to see it! It’ll put you off your breakfast!”_

_“I don’t eat breakfast!”_

_“What?”_

_“I. DON’T. EAT. BREAKFAST.”_

_“It’ll put you off all your meals, then, and probably off of kissing me, too. And I can’t have that.”_

_Alexandrina giggled and bided her time by putting her dress back on. She tested out several different ways of wearing her hair, as well; Steve had told her that she couldn’t accompany him to the station, so since this was their last day together for a month, she was determined to look nice for him today… not to mention, she would be meeting Peggy Carter._

_The lock clicked. Ten minutes after she was let out, Alexandrina flounced out of the bathroom in an emerald-green dress, wearing her most sensible pair of heels (that were still likely to turn her ankle), with her hair in a bun that left a few strands to curl prettily around her ears and jaw. Steve’s face broke out into a delighted grin when he saw her, and Alexandrina grinned back, knowing he was hiding his anxiety for her sake and that she should do the same for him. “You look beautiful,” he told her quietly, a shy blush creeping onto his face. “I will never understand why you chose me.”_

_“Because Lydia got to Bucky first, and I know better than to get in her way.”_

_Steve chuckled._

_“Seriously, though,” Alexandrina amended, surprised when she noticed the emotion welling up in her chest and threatening to spill over as tears, “I would always pick you. Over anyone. I have a million reasons, and all of them are good.” Before he could contradict her or stop her, she threw her arms around him. “I’m going to miss you so much! I don’t know what I’ll do without you here.”_

_“You’ll find something to do.”_

_“Well, yes,” Alexandrina answered, huffing at his practicality. “But nothing could ever replace just being with you.”_

_A car pulled up outside, and both of them looked toward the sound._

_“I do love you,” Steve murmured. Alexandrina barely heard it._

_Clutching hands, they walked out to the car and came face-to-face with Howard, and Peggy Carter, standing straight-backed against the car. “Steven Grant Rogers?”_

_“Um… yes, ma’am.”_

_She turned her gaze on Alexandrina. “And you must be…?”_

_“I’m his girlfriend,” Alexandrina answered firmly, and offered a decisive hand for Peggy to shake. “Alexandrina Stark.”_

_She blinked and took the proffered hand just as decisively as it had been offered. “It’s lovely to meet you, Miss Stark. We’ll take good care of Steven.”_

_“Just Steve, please,” he requested, pausing when Peggy held the door open for him. “I’ll miss you, Drina.”_

_“I’ll miss you, too.”_

_He smiled, barely, one side of his mouth twitching upward in a vulnerable expression that delivered a direct punch to Alexandrina’s heart._

_Sweet, lovely Lydia,_

_It may be a little while before I write again; I finally get to use my gun for real. You’ll be in my hand the whole time, and if it gets difficult, I’ll think of you._

_I’m afraid, Squeaky. I’d be ashamed to admit it to anyone else, even Stevie—hell, especially Stevie—but I’m not exactly ashamed to tell you. Most people would call me a coward, and they’d probably start watching me and say, “That one might become a traitor, keep an eye on him.” In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if they do start watching me after they read this letter—but a small part of me doesn’t care. I’ll never be a traitor, but I’m going to go ahead and say, with no shame (at least to you), that I don’t want to be a killer. I told you that on the night we met, and I haven’t changed my mind, even though all those Germans do deserve to die. I just know that I’ll be losing something in me whenever I kill a man, and I never asked to give it away in the first place._

_Somehow, it’s much easier to write my feelings down than to say them, even though I talk a lot, and you are the easiest person to talk to._

_How is Stevie? And how is Drina? Are they still being adorable?_

_Remember that I love you,_

_Bucky_

_Dear Bucky,_

_I think of you every minute of every day—and no, I’m not exaggerating. I know this letter will probably arrive long after you’ve completed your first mission, or assignment, whatever they call it, but I still want to tell you to be CAREFUL, dammit. Don’t do anything foolish, and for God’s sake, don’t go make a name for yourself. War is not the time to do that._

_You should never be ashamed of your fear, Bucky, and I will never judge you for it. I know that people make a big deal of cowards who don’t want to go to war and all that, but your fear makes you human, and to be honest, if you weren’t afraid, I’d wonder what kind of person I was going steady with. Understanding that war has a price and that it shouldn’t be yours to pay isn’t cowardice. It’s maturity. None of this had to happen. A lot of people made a lot of stupid decisions, none of them had anything to do with you, and you are fully aware of that. At the end of the day, everybody in the world who has any sense, even Mr. Patriotic Steve Rogers, knows that there shouldn’t have been a mess to clean up at all, and that they should have just been able to live their lives in peace in the first place. And besides, true bravery is feeling fear and doing what makes you afraid anyway, especially if you know in your heart that it’s the right thing to do. I don’t think Steve, or a lot of people, really understand that. But I do, and I will never shame you for your fear._

_I remember. I love you, too._

_Lydia_


	10. Tendrement, Pasionement C

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angst, mentions of cheating, Drina does something really, really dumb, mention of bodily functions, swearing

_Things are going well here—as well as can be expected, I suppose. I don’t want you to worry about me. I’ll prove myself to everybody and be able to get that treatment and come back to you real soon._

_Heard from Bucky the other day. He got to go fight for the first time, and I’m jealous, to be honest._

_I hope you’re doing something with yourself. Please don’t sit around and mope, especially on my account. I’m the only one allowed to mope._

_I miss you._

_Love,_

_Steve_

_Dear Steve,_

_You do not have to prove yourself to anyone. Ignore them all and go at your own pace. If you really want that serum, the smartest thing to do is to keep yourself in the best condition possible. I would prefer to have you home in one piece, not several, even if those pieces are bigger and healthier than they were._

_Have you told Bucky what you’ve done?_

_This serum could kill you. That scares me, Steve. Please try to keep your stupid to a minimum. Please._

_I miss you too. I love you,_

_Your Drina_

_Dear Drina,_

_You make it sound like I’m a naughty three-year old with his hand in the cookie jar, not like a (semi) functioning adult who can make informed decisions. Okay, granted, I’m stubborn, prideful, and this is a huge risk, but I have to do it, because it’s right. You know that, right?_

_I can’t make any promises, but I’ll try—for your sake, not mine._

_I miss you,_

_Steve_

_Dear Steve,_

_Dammit. Come on._

_Lydia’s getting restless. She hasn’t heard from Bucky in a while and says she’s actually getting tired of being at the library. She’s thinking of becoming a nurse. If you hear from Bucky first, don’t tell him—it might scare him._

_I’ve got plenty to do. I’m holding down the fort for Howard while he’s off running around with Peggy Carter. How is she treating you, by the way?_

_I miss you. I love you._

_Your Drina_

_Dear Drina,_

_I won’t tell Buck. I haven’t gotten a letter from him, either. He’s probably off saving lives and sending Nazis straight to hell. Lucky man._

_Peggy Carter is great. I don’t see her a lot, actually, but when I do… wow. She’s something special, Drina. She’s strong and powerful and yet she doesn’t compromise herself around all these military guys. I don’t know why, but she stops to talk to me a lot. All these guys really admire her. One new guy tried to say something a little inappropriate to her the other day and she punched him in the face. It was great._

_I wish I was half as good as her. She just walks around like a goddess. It’s amazing._

_I miss you, too. I hope you’re doing all right._

_Your Stevie_

_**July 30th, 1943** _

“Did you get your period this month?”

            “…Why?”

            “Because. You didn’t use any protection, did you?”

            “Bucky’s been gone for three and half months, and I haven’t puked. Or had any other symptoms. I’m fine.”

            “So have you gotten your period?”

            “What the hell, Drina.”

            “You might want to go to a doctor. Just to make sure-”

            “Did you forget what year this is? I can’t go to a doctor; my boyfriend is off at war and I’m currently alone! Do you understand what that would look like?”

            “But-”

            “Wake up, Drina. I’m not pregnant.”

            “I’m awake. I swear, sometimes you act like I don’t know what happened to us-”

            “You know, but apparently you don’t give a fuck. Why do you suddenly care so much about my bodily functions?”

            Alexandrina opened her mouth to retaliate, but was interrupted by Howard coming in, looking exhausted, home from his latest trip to see Peggy Carter.

            “What are you girls talking about?”

            “Periods,” Drina answered, with no hesitation.

            Howard emitted a high-pitched squeal and all but ran out of the room. Lydia made a gesture toward his retreating blur that reminded Alexandrina bluntly of Edna Mode, but she decided not to point this out, because Lydia’s point had just been proven correct.

            “I’m not pregnant.”

            “You can’t always-”

            “I’m not. I know it sounds bizarre, but I can just tell. I’m not.”

            “Is it that you know you’re not or that you just really don’t want to have his kid?”

            Lydia slammed her book on the table with a loud _crack_ and gave Drina the most frightening look she had ever received from her friend in her life. Alexandrina decided that it would be in her best interest to keep quiet. “So are you gonna tell me what the fuck is going on with you or are you just gonna keep blathering like an idiot?” Lydia snapped.

            “…It’s Peggy,” Alexandrina finally whispered. Lydia snorted. “No—Steve won’t stop writing about her and I just… I just see myself getting pushed aside. You know how they were. I mean… I’m nothing next to her. And Steve’s infatuated. He called her a goddess. I can’t compete with that.”

            Lydia rolled her eyes, and Alexandrina couldn’t even get angry at her, because she knew, deep down, that she was being ridiculous. “You’re not competing, Drina. I know Steve and Peggy are like, _the_ Marvel pairing, but they kissed once in the movies. And then he died. You’re much more important to him now than Peggy ever was, because he’s taken the time to get to know you. He might admire Peggy and worship the ground she walks on, and not without reason, but… he _loves_ you. So stop being ridiculous and worrying about my bodily functions. Yes, I got my period this month. I am not pregnant. And Steve loves you more than life itself. Are you done?”

            Alexandrina nodded.

 

Two weeks later, on August thirteenth, to Howard’s immense displeasure, Lydia began her medical training. Steve wrote that he was coming home to beginning the process for his procedure, and Howard went up to meet him on the exact day the letter arrived. Alexandrina was bitterly disappointed at being left behind, so Howard promised that she could at least be there for the actual procedure, when the time came. Letters from Bucky stopped coming altogether by that time, but every so often, Lydia would receive chocolates in the mail, sometimes with the labels censored off the slightly squashed box, or wrapped up in a nondescript bag.

            On August fifteenth, Howard came home and told them to put on some nicer clothing, as if they were going out shopping, and, with his own hat pulled low over his eyes, walked them down the streets of Brooklyn, finally stopping at a little shop with “BROOLYN ANTIQUES” painted on the front. Alexandrina bit her lip and followed Howard in, Lydia close behind her. None of them attempted to engage each other in conversation. Lydia was fairly sure that she knew what Alexandrina was thinking—from now on, she would be interacting with Captain America, then Captain Rogers, or at best, Steve; the man she had grown to love would no longer exist after today.

            Howard gave the password and brought them down to the secret facility under the shop, and Alexandrina spoke for the first time. “You’d better have taken decent care of him,” she muttered.

            Howard rolled his eyes. “He’s been fine. Brilliant, actually.”

            Alexandrina opened her mouth to spit something back at him, but received a frustrated look from Lydia. Howard smiled at her, and gave her a belated, inappropriately long hug; Lydia suffered through it for his sake, feeling a little sorry for him and wondering if Peggy could make a shield for him to deflect the verbal battering from Alexandrina that they all knew was coming.

            “Can I see him before…?”

            “Sure. Peggy’s gotten you both clearance. We’re almost there.”

            Alexandrina stiffened. Despite Lydia’s lecture, she hadn’t been able to shake off her nervousness, and she bit her lip at the mention of Agent Carter. She went utterly and completely silent, and Lydia found herself feeling more and more sorry for Howard by the second.

            A brisk, put-together Peggy Carter met them at the door, and Lydia knew that Alexandrina’s bright greeting was indicative of impending murder. She led them through the first door, down a small hallway, through some more stereotypically heavy vault doors, and then finally, through a plain wooden one. Steve’s soft voice could be heard inside, giggling wheezily at something someone—perhaps Dr. Erskine, had said.

            Alexandrina saw Lydia straighten her shoulders.

            Peggy opened the door and Alexandrina pushed rudely past her in her effort to get to Steve— _he’s mine, damn you—_

“Drina!”

            Steve was on a table, his legs strapped in, but his arms were free, and Alexandrina bent eagerly over him and wrapped him in a hug, while Dr. Erskine backed away, bemused. “You must be the girl he won’t stop talking about—it is Alexandrina, yes?”

            “Yes,” she said proudly, hand resting possessively on his shoulder. The part of her that usually spoke in Lydia’s voice told her that she was reaching a newly embarrassing level of stupid, but she couldn’t bring herself to give a fuck just at the moment.

            _I’m not losing him before I have to._

“We can give you two a moment before we start the procedure, if you like,” Dr. Erskine offered.

            “Yes, please,” Alexandrina said thankfully, almost before he had finished his sentence, and Howard and Peggy herded everyone else out. Out of the corner of her eye, Alexandrina caught Lydia eyeing everyone as though they were all going to explode; they glanced at each other and Lydia glared at her as though Alexandrina was the one who was going to pull the gun and shoot Dr. Erskine.

            _I’m sorry,_ Alexandrina mouthed, and Lydia shoved her way out, knowing that if her friend succeeded in what she was about to do, it would leave Bucky with no one to save him.

            “You don’t have to do this,” Alexandrina blurted.

            “…What? Drina, you were the one who told me to go through with it before I left!”

            “Maybe I changed my mind!” she shot back. “Maybe I don’t want you to risk your life on a serum that might not even work so you can go out and kill yourself on the battlefield! I mean, what if whatever is in your system dies halfway through a fight and you’re suddenly as skinny on the field as you are now? You’d get turned into cannon fodder!”

            “Drina, if I don’t take this serum, I’m going to be dead anyway-”

            “I’d take a few years with you over a couple months that end with officers knocking at my door-”

            “You know that if I don’t do this, I’ll get horribly sick and die anyway-”

            “Well, maybe I want more time!”

            Steve took a huge breath, and the struggling sound of it made Alexandrina’s heart skip a beat. “More time for what? We’ve been through this!”

            “I just want you to stay-”

            “It’s not about you. We’re in a war-”

            “It’s _never_ been about me!” Alexandrina shrieked, and everyone outside heard it; Peggy grabbed Howard’s arm to stop him from going in, and Lydia burst into hysterical giggling that she could barely keep quiet.

            Somewhere inside herself, Alexandrina knew that she was spewing utter bullshit, that she was costing herself and Lydia and the entire goddamn world something, that Steve was the least selfish person she knew and for that reason alone, she didn’t deserve him, but _god-fucking-damn it, I’ve already lost enough and he’s_ mine! “You’ve never thought about me once—you’ve been so busy trying to be a hero, because you have no idea what war actually is-”

            “THAT’S NOT TRUE!” Steve bellowed. Alexandrina jumped. “And you know it! What the _hell_ is wrong with you? You know me better than this! It was you who talked me into going in the first place! And you know it’s not about me being a hero, it’s about me doing the right thing!”

            “The right thing is being with the girl who loves you,” Alexandrina whispered, and kissed him, harder than she ever had before. His feet were buckled in, and she used it, threading her fingers through his hair and leaning over him, trapping the rest of his body. He jerked under her; he was trying to get out, trying to take a breath—

            “Get off me!” Steve choked out, the command a strangled cry ripping up from his chest, dripping with shock and hatred. Alexandrina stumbled backward so fast that she bumped into the wall, and she could actually feel the bruise blossoming on her shoulder. “I just—I don’t want to lose you,” she stammered. “Please don’t leave me—I don’t know what I’d do if-”

            He turned a gaze of condescending pity, disappointment, and complete disgust on her, and Alexandrina stopped talking at once.

            “Howard! Dr. Erskine! You all can come back in now!”

            They did, followed by everyone else. Lydia saw Alexandrina leaning against the wall, clearly trying not to slide down, and looking as though she was about to vomit. Silently, she took up a place by her friend, the two of them watching in their own charged silence. Dr. Erskine and Howard secured Steve the rest of the way, and Lydia went back to looking at everyone else in the room, trying to figure out which man in the room was the one with the gun.

            “Do you need anything else, Steve?” Howard asked, glancing nervously toward his sister.

            “No.”

            Dr. Erskine blinked, gulped, and put Steve in the machine. It whirred on and they hit the buttons, staring at each other, and to Alexandrina’s ears, it sounded like a monster devouring a meal. Steve let out a keening wail from inside it, and she broke down into tears.

            “TURN IT OFF!”

            “NO, MR. STARK, I CAN DO THIS!”

            Howard backed off—the machine growled, its volume increasing—they all heard Steve cry out once more, and then—

            There was silence. Alexandrina’s sobs echoed ominously around the room. Peggy chewed nervously on her lip, and Dr. Erskine took three measured steps to the machine and unlocked it. The doors swung open.

            Steve took a huge breath again—this time, a healthy one—and his head lolled to the side. His body, unprepared for such a large amount of air, went limp in the restraints. He glistened with sweat, and it was oddly clean, as though his body was rebirthing itself, and trying to make up for the last time he had come into the world. The width of his shoulders had tripled, and every muscle was clearly defined as his abdomen rose and fell again. His gaunt eyes and jutting cheekbones had become an angular facial structure; his skinny, bird-like hands had become graceful and manly, clenching and unclenching nervously when his wrists were freed.

            “He looks like Adonis,” one of the nurses murmured in awe.

            They unbuckled him and Steve nearly fell over, but Howard and Dr. Erskine rushed to either side of him and eased him onto his feet. Alexandrina’s mouth dropped, and she took a couple of steps toward him, reaching out, but Peggy beat her to it, putting a finger to his chest in admiration. Alexandrina let out an affronted squeak and Steve’s head whipped around to her.

            She hadn’t ever had many occasions to feel small in her life, but she did now.

            “How do you feel?” That was Howard.

            “Taller…” He turned away from Alexandrina and looked at Peggy, marveling openly at the fact that she was indeed a good deal shorter than she had been. “I feel taller.”

            Dr. Erskine smiled.

            Suddenly, two gunshots went off, and he dropped abruptly to the floor, that smile frozen on his face. The nurses erupted in screams, Alexandrina hit the floor, Peggy whipped out a pistol and shot frantically in the direction that the man with the gun had gone. Steve, ever the impulsive fighter, rose to his feet, Dr. Erskine’s blood on his hands, burst through the chaotic crowd—ignoring Alexandrina’s cry of horror—and sprinted after the man. Lydia, unnoticed by anyone, had gone after him as well, but Steve soon bypassed her, taking his chase to the streets.

            Alexandrina snatched at Lydia, who screamed incoherently and slammed her heel directly down on her friend’s foot.

            “OW!”

            “LET GO OF ME, HE’S GOT THE SERUM!”

            “Steve will get it, now shut up, do you really want to do this in front of all the agents?”

            “Fuck you!”

            “You’re not the only one thinking that right now, but come on. You can’t go after the guy. You’d have to be a submarine at this point. Look. There he is. He’s coming back.” She let go of Lydia, who made a beeline towards the bright blue liquid soaking into the ground, and reached for Steve.

            “What do you think you all are doing?” Peggy had appeared, still brandishing her pistol, red in the face and furious.

            “We-”

            “And _you_!” She turned on Steve, who shrank visibly. “You can’t just barge after an armed assassin because you look like—better than you did before! You’re uncoordinated, barely trained, and you’ve obviously hurt yourself! Of all the ridiculous, stupid-”

            “Steve…”

            “Back inside!” Peggy barked, throwing an accusing finger toward the door. “All of you, back inside, now!”

            “Steve-”

                He brushed past Alexandrina without a word.


	11. Tendrement, Pasionement D

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Swearing, heart-to-heart, Howard does something really stupid

_Dear Steve,_

_I hope everything is going okay. I miss you. And your letters. I know you’re busy, though, and I know you hate those shows—Howard told me. Have you written to him lately? He’s still pretty upset about Dr. Erskine, and I know you are too. I understand how much you both admired him._

_I’m so, so sorry, Steve. I am an idiot and a terrible, horrible, person. I said really shitty things that day and I behaved like a… well. Lydia says I behaved like a desperate whore, and she’s totally right. What I did was completely unforgivable and I have no right to ask for anything from you. But I miss you and I need you and I got so scared that you’d run off onto the battlefield and just die. I mean, I know you can take better care of yourself now that you’re big and getting trained, but you’re still not bulletproof._

_I am a selfish, stupid bitch; I’ve had plenty of people tell me that, and no matter what I do, I can’t seem to fix it. And I really don’t deserve you—I’ve known that since the day I met you and you told me why you wanted to go to war. I fell in love with you that day, and I fell in love with_ all _of you. You’re smart and brave and you always do the right thing. God knows the world needs more of that, and I know that too, and instead I behaved like an inconvenienced, bratty little shit._

_I’m not asking you to forgive me. But please, please write me back. Or at least write Howard and let him tell me that you’re okay._

_I was so scared to lose you that I pushed you away. I’m sorry. I love you,_

_Your Drina_

“Allie?”

            “…Yeah, Howard?”

            “I got us tickets to Steve’s show. It’s in two days. You, me, and Lydia. We can go backstage, too…”

            “I don’t want to go.”

            “Allie-”                       

            “He won’t write me, Howard. I’ve sent him so many letters. And I haven’t heard anything back.”

            “Did you apologize?”

            Alexandrina made eye contact with him. “Yes. I did. And don’t call me Allie.”

            “Then come with Lydia and me. You can talk to Steve face-to-face.”

            “Howard-”

            “It’s either that or nothing, Alexandrina. Maybe letters aren’t enough. Maybe he doesn’t feel that’s enough from you.”

            “But I-”

            “But you what? You know what kind of person he is, Alexandrina. He’d give it all up in a second if you just _asked_ him to.”

            That made Alexandrina burst into tears for what seemed like the hundredth time. “Goddammit, all I’ve done lately is cry!” she spat. “I know, he’d never hurt anyone on purpose, and he always does what’s right and he’s perfect and I’m a piece of shit-”

            “I didn’t say any of that-”

            “You don’t think I’ve already been through this five hundred times? I really fucked up and _I am_ aware of it, so if you’re just going to rub it in my face some more-”

            “God _damn_ it, Allie, would you listen to someone else talk for once? What I’m telling you is that Steve has never had a romantic relationship in his life. He’s never even had a real one. Not one with ups and downs and normality. Normality has never been an option, Allie, and _you_ were the first to give it to him! He and Sergeant Barnes might have fought before, but it probably only ran along the lines of ‘you’re being a noble idiot’ and Steve knew Barnes was right the whole time. Barnes and his mother bent over backwards trying not to physically or emotionally hurt Steve, because it might have made him sick or killed him and they knew it. _Your_ Steve, this Steve… he doesn’t know how to deal with genuine hurt. He’s never had this low of a point in a relationship before. He doesn’t know what to do. And he can’t do anything over letters. He needs to _see_ you.”

            So, quite reluctantly, Alexandrina headed to the same spot where the Stark Expo had taken place, dressed to the nines in Steve’s favorite color, accompanied by Howard and Lydia. They settled in their front-row seats and proceeded to stare politely through everyone dancing, ridiculously brightly, onstage. Alexandrina wrung her hands, twisted her skirt, ripped up her program, and scratched her arm so hard it bled.

            And then Steve walked out.

            To Alexandrina’s left, Lydia was growing steadily redder as he began his bit of the routine, hugely embarrassed on his behalf at the corniness of the show. Howard watched, somewhere between bemused and mortified as Steve pranced around between the choreographed dancing, ending up in the middle of the stage and throwing the worst punch any of them had ever seen, knocking “Hitler” to the ground. The rest of the audience, however, was eating out of the palm of Captain America’s hand.

            Finally, Steve stepped between two dancers to the front of center stage, raised his prop shield triumphantly, and suddenly, noticed Alexandrina. Though his smile remained perfectly in place, his eyes veiled over, and he might as well have been made of stone. Alexandrina gulped, her bottom lip trembling uncontrollably.

            After the show, Howard marched backstage with a little too much alacrity, the girls trailing behind him, and as they approached the dressing room, Alexandrina hung back further, doing her best to ignore Lydia’s annoyed looks. As they entered, they spotted Peggy talking to a clearly agitated Steve.

            “I’m just saying, now isn’t the best time-”

            “Peggy, I’m a prop! I thought I was going to be doing something worthwhile!”

            Peggy opened her mouth to retort ad noticed Howard, Lydia, and Alexandrina standing awkwardly at the threshold. Steve, confused at her abrupt silence, turned, then slowly rose to his feet. Howard pushed Alexandrina toward him and took himself and Lydia to the other side of the room to greet Peggy.

            “…Hi,” Alexandrina blurted.

            “Hi.”

            “I… um… you did a really good job…”

            “Thanks,” Steve snorted. “I’m just a dancing puppet.”

            “No. Absolutely not. You’re a symbol,” Alexandrina contradicted him immediately. “And we need symbols as much as we need soldiers. Maybe more.”

            Steve’s mouth twitched slightly upward, into what Alexandrina hoped was a smile, and she bit her lip, attempting to stop yet another rush of tears. “I’m sorry,” she finally choked. “I miss you. I love you. I-”

            Steve stopped her with an embrace, and Alexandrina let the tears come.

            “Don’t cry… Drina, sweetheart, please-”

            “But I… I-” She sobbed helplessly. “I thought I’d lost you. All I ever wanted was for you to hold me like this and I thought you were gone—I thought you’d get with Peggy and-”

            _“Peggy?”_ Steve interrupted, astonishment all over his features. “Peggy is like my sister!”

            “But she’s so much better than me—she’s capable, and smart, and always does the right thing, just like you, and she’s beautiful, and I’m just this stupid, selfish-”

            “Knock it off, Drina,” Steve demanded, somewhat harshly. “I don’t want Peggy. I never did. I told you before I left that no other dame could make me feel like you have. That no one could do for me what you’ve already done. That’s still true. I love you, Drina. I was shocked and hurt, yeah, but I love you. That will never change. You should know that.”

            “…Now I do,” Alexandrina answered quietly.

 

**(September 25, 1943)**

Lydia completed her first round of medical training and had been cleared to go overseas to begin her second round; she had been trying to get herself as near to where Bucky and Steve would end up as she possibly could, but she hadn’t been given clearance to go that area yet, to her immense displeasure.

            On the same day that she had completed her training, she had received a letter dated at the end of August from Bucky; it was barely a paragraph long, written on older, stained and wrinkled parchment, in messier cursive than normal, and had said only: _Doll, I’m joining a transport. I can’t tell you where. Shouldn’t last too long, I’ll be back to normal soon. Give Stevie a hug for me. Mr. Bear and I miss you. Remember that I love you, Bucky._

By the time the letter arrived on September twenty-fifth, Lydia had opened a bank vault in her name, put all of Bucky’s previous letters and personal effects inside it, leaving only his favorite fluffy blanket out for when he came back. She’d broken his lease on the apartment, paid the fee, and meant to ask Howard if, when Bucky came back, if he could stay at the Stark mansion. She’d also put a large amount of her own money in a savings account, also in her name, to gather interest until further notice.

            Two nights before Lydia was due to leave to start her training again, Howard took her to dinner, ordering a carry-out meal for Alexandrina, who’d elected to stay home. As they pulled into the long driveway at the manor, Howard stopped Lydia from opening the passenger door of the car. “Wait.”

            “…What?”

            “I… I wish you wouldn’t go.” He ignored the growing suspicion on her face. “It’s extremely dangerous and I know you’re capable, but… you can’t outrun a bomb. And I… I don’t know what I’d do if you died.”

            “Howard-”

            “Please let me finish. It might be too late for us, but it might not, and I need you to know how I feel about you.” He took a deep breath. “I’ve loved you for a long time, Lydia. But I think I only realized it that night at my Expo, when I saw you standing next to Sergeant Barnes in that pretty periwinkle dress. You’re beautiful, smart, caring, and determined, and you love with your whole heart. I could see that every time you looked at Barnes. I… I just wish you would look at me that way.”

            “…Howard, please don’t do this,” Lydia whispered, an appalled horror creeping through her.

            “Do I really disgust you that much?”

            “No! No, Howard, no!” She bit her lip at his heartbroken expression. “It’s just that… you never said anything before, and… I’m not your kind of girl.”

            “Oh, yes you are!” he exclaimed earnestly. “We’d make such a great team! You’re so brilliant, in ways I can’t even fathom, and you deserve the best of everything! I could give that to you-” He stopped himself short at the look of exasperation on Lydia’s face. “I—it’s just that—if Barnes doesn’t come back… I don’t want you to be alone.”

            “…I wouldn’t be,” Lydia answered after a moment, her voice soft and her words measured. “I’d have Drina and Steve… and you. But Howard… I love Bucky. More than I’ve ever loved anyone. More than my own life. I might… I might find someone else if Bucky doesn’t… come back. But I’d never feel the kind of love for someone else that I feel for him. And you deserve a person who can feel that kind of love for you. Someone who can give you something more important to care about than the company.” She chewed her lip, tensing suddenly as she remembered Howard as an older man, crumpled against his car, looking very much as he did at this moment. “Besides,” she continued, her words coming out slightly harsher than she meant them to, “I don’t want your kind of lifestyle, Howard. I don’t want to be a doll at your events and smile continually until my face hurts, and make ridiculous small talk and throw constant house parties. And let’s face it, that’s what I’d be doing. For your girlfriend, or your wife, for that matter, to be anything else… well, that would cause talk and hurt your company, and you can’t have that.”

            “I don’t care what people would say. I like you because you are different.”

            _So does Bucky,_ Lydia thought, but it was as if she’d screamed it, and Howard flinched violently. “You need to,” she retorted aloud. “You’re trying to do so much good in the world. You need to take care of the company… and yourself.”

            “Fuck the company,” he muttered, and kissed her.

            “Howard—Howard, stop—don’t-” Lydia grabbed both of his ears and yanked, hard. “I’m with _Bucky!”_ she shouted over his cry of shock and pain. “You can’t just _do_ that!”

            “I—I’m sorry,” he panted, vigorously rubbing his affronted ears. “I just—I had to do that—I had to let you know-”

            “I am perfectly capable of making deductions without you providing unnecessary and invasive examples!”

            “You sound like Peggy,” Howard mused, and a sad smile made its way onto his face. “…But… would you at least promise to write me? Let me know that you’re all right, wherever you are?”

            “…I promise.”


	12. Tendrement, Pasionement E

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Swearing, angst, allusions to Bucky's torture and physical changes as a result of it, awkward crossover, Drina and Howard clash (again)

To Lydia’s surprise, the second part of her medical training took place under the supervision of one Claire Beauchamp-Randall-soon-to-be-Fraser. After a couple of weeks, Claire and all of the men Lydia tended began to call her, in public and in private, the Angel of Death. It was ridiculous, it was cliché, and Lydia knew that it was also appropriate, because they must have had some inkling, on a level they couldn’t process, that she knew more about crossing into other worlds than the average person.

            Soon, though, the inevitable happened, and Howard and Peggy, both surrounded by a battalion of soldiers and agents, walked into the communal dining room where all the nurses were having lunch. Howard was clutching an official envelope in his hand, and Peggy gripped a crumpled handkerchief.

            “He’s… he’s MIA—I—I-” Howard stammered, the letter rattling in his shaking hand.

            “Well, I bet you’re just _thrilled_ , aren’t you?”

            Howard flinched, his face crumbling. Peggy’s eyes narrowed, but before she could say anything, Claire pulled Lydia’s chair out, took her by the arms, and hauled her up, putting an arm around her and leading her back to her office in silence.

            “It’s your Barnes, isn’t it?” she asked quietly, sitting Lydia down and offering her a clean handkerchief.

            Lydia burst into tears.

            “Do you have any idea where he might have been?” Claire inquired, her voice gaining back its professionalism.

            “Um… I think…Camp… Gross—something or other… I can’t—I can’t re-” Lydia bit her tongue to stop the last word from coming out.

            “Camp _GrossGlockner_. I am not going to ask how you know that. I can perhaps get you there in a month or so,” Claire mused, thoughtful. “Of course, he might be found by then.”

            Lydia, who knew that he wouldn’t be, made a face. Claire blinked, took that to mean, “Yeah, they’ll find him in a body bag,” and gave Lydia a stern look over her hands. “Finish up our training, and in about a month, I’ll do my best to get you to him.”

            “Thank you,” Lydia whispered.

 

Throughout the next month, she barely slept. She couldn’t bring herself to get a good night’s sleep, knowing what Bucky was going through, and her emotions far outweighed the practical side of her brain telling her that she was in for seventy years of utter hell if she couldn’t learn to sleep despite her fear for him. To console herself, she wrote letters to Alexandrina, Howard, and Steve, and to her relief, Howard made no mention of the incident in the car, except to apologize profusely for it.

            As she was writing a letter to Steve one afternoon, talking him down from quitting his gig as Captain America yet again, Claire walked into the nurses’ dorm and offered her papers, a knowing look on her face. “You’ve been cleared to go,” she announced, and surprisingly, sat familiarly on the edge of Lydia’s bed. “It’s an extremely dangerous area, so you’ll need some extra training before you head out… but my guess is, you’ll be able to leave in about a week.” She pressed the papers into Lydia’s hands and let out a small, uncomfortable-sounding cough. “I’ll regret not having you around,” she told Lydia, her tone so sharply professional that it could have cut through diamond. “You’re… you’re good for the men. You have a… a way about you. It’s like magic. You make things easier for them. You’ll make a very good nurse, if you choose to take that path.”

            Despite having felt nothing but hopelessness since the letter had arrived, Lydia broke into a grin. “That’s really nice of you to say,” she finally answered, resisting the urge to squeal at the compliment.

            “Well-” Claire got up. “You’ll be careful, won’t you?”

            “Yes.” Lydia paused. “Hey… Claire?”

            “…Yes?”

            “It’ll be okay. It’s… it’s worth it.”

            Claire gave her an odd look and left.

 

_Dear Drina,_

_This place is an absolute mess. There’s a damn reason why it starts with the word ‘gross.’ Claire wasn’t kidding when she said it was dangerous, either. There’s been no word of Bucky. I haven’t told Steve yet, because he’s still traveling around. Oh, speaking of Steve, that jerk officer who doesn’t like him is here and I overheard him bitching to another officer about Steve wanting to get off the circuit and come here. Unfortunately for your libido, I don’t think Steve will be making it home before he ends up here to get Bucky._

_At least Steve will have a decent education by the time he sees you again!_

_Miss you,_

_Lydia_

_Lyd,_

_Shut up about my libido. You have no idea how bad I am right now. Howard’s this close to killing me and he doesn’t even know what the problem is._

_I cannot believe you met Claire fucking Fraser. What kind of crap did we get thrown into?_

_Give Steve a hug for me when he gets there. Can you maybe try to get him a real helmet before he goes?_

_I know you miss Bucky. He’ll be back soon. You know, maybe now that we’re here, they’ll both get to come home and stay home. Bucky will have a wounded POW status. I have to keep hoping we’re here to save them. Sorry_ _J_

_Drina_

Lydia snorted as she put the letter away. Between Howard, her training, Bucky disappearing, and the constant movement, she had honestly stopped thinking about the reasons she and Alexandrina might have ended up in the place they had. If she was honest with herself about all of it—and she had to be—she couldn’t find it in herself to give much of a fuck at the moment. She missed her family, the comforts of home, the luxuries of the modern world—but she’d found more in this world, in this time, than she’d ever hoped to have. Despite the fact that they’d only spent a little over a week together and had spent the majority of their relationship writing letters to each other, Lydia loved Bucky more than she’d ever thought it was possible to love someone. He knew her in ways that no one else did, and consequently, she’d made herself vulnerable to him in a way she would never be able to take back. Despite the fact that she hadn’t chosen to come here, and despite her knowledge of what was to come, Lydia knew for certain, now, that she would never choose not to love James Buchanan Barnes.

            “Lydia? They told me you were here—how are you?”

            “Steve!” Lydia stood up and ran over to give him a hug. “That one is from Drina.” She gave him another. “And that one is from me.”

            He smiled down at her. “How did you—what are you doing here?”

            “Have you done your show yet?”

            “No, I just got here and I heard you were here-” He eyed Lydia suspiciously. “You look… different. What’s on your mind?”

            “Listen, Steve…” Lydia bit her lip. “Let me send someone to get Peggy really quick, okay?”

            “Why?”

            “Just trust me on this.”

            “Captain America! Steve Rog—oh. There you are. Listen, you gotta get-”

            “You!” Lydia barked, startling the confused man into silence. “Make yourself useful. Go find Peggy Carter and tell her Nurse Lydia sent for her. Now.”

            “Wha-”

            “I said now!”

            He ran. Steve blinked, looked at Lydia, looked at the empty space where the man had been, and gave Lydia one more glance. “Remind me never to make you angry.”

            She gave him a humorless smile. “Let me save you the impending humiliation of that show and tell you that… Bucky is MIA, Steve.”

            _“WHAT?”_

            “He’s MIA. Has been for a while now. Ever since that transport. All those men are gone, but there’s no evidence they’re dead. Not enough, anyway.”

            _“Why didn’t you tell me?”_

            “And what would you have done, Steve? Run offstage in the middle of a show? Steve, you can’t just-”

            “Yes, I can.”

            “Steve-”

            “What’s going on?” Peggy had come in, frazzled.

            “Lydia just told me that Sergeant James Barnes is MIA. I’m gonna go get him.”

            “Rogers, you-”

            “I don’t care what you or Lydia, or anyone says.” The stubborn, I’ll-do-anything-I-damn-well-please look was on his face, and Lydia bit her lip. “I’ll sneak out if I have to.”

            “Rogers, I can’t let you-”

            “The hell you can’t,” Steve snipped, his mouth turning up in a smirk. “I’m a Captain.”

            Peggy huffed.

            “Peg? Can you give us a second? Please?”

            Peggy looked back and forth between Lydia and Steve, and then rolled her eyes up to the ceiling. “I’ll… get what you need. And I’ll cover for you.”

            Steve nodded. Lydia sighed and gestured for him to sit down. “As much as I worry, I really don’t think you should just barge in there alone.”

            “You need him. We both do.”

            Lydia inhaled deeply. “I… know who took him,” she finally whispered, a pause between each word as she measured the consequences of saying them. “I know who has him, and I know where he is. And-” She bit down on the final part of it, but Steve read her face well enough; his own went pale.

            “How?”

            “I can’t tell you,” she told him, firm. “No—don’t ask questions, I can’t tell you. None of the officers told me. I promise I’m not crazy and I’m not some sort of spy. You know better than that. I just want him back. Please. Trust me. Don’t ask anyone any questions, Steve. Just bring him back to me.”

            “…Tell me.”

            She did. She kept most of what she knew hidden, only telling him exactly how to get to Bucky and help the other men of the transport, and to her relief, Steve didn’t pepper her with questions as she talked, but instead, listened and committed everything she said to memory. “If you get the chance, Steve,” Lydia finished, her voice flat and cold, “kill the people who did this to him. Don’t let them talk to you. Don’t bring them into the authorities. Murder them. And bring me evidence.”

 

_Drina,_

_He’s gone to get Bucky. I’ll let you know when he gets back._

_Lydia_

            “Allie? What’s the matter?”

            “Nothing,” she snapped, throwing Lydia’s worthless letter in the trash bin.

            “Horse shit. Something has been going on since the night you made up with Steve-”

            “And it’s none of your business!”

            “Allie, are you preg-”

            “OH, FOR FUCK’S SAKE, HOWARD!” she bellowed. “No! I’m just sick of being left behind! Lydia is gone, Steve is gone, Bucky is God-knows-where, and I’m just sitting here twiddling my damn thumbs with nothing to do!”

            “Allie, I’ve asked you twenty times if you want to help me with the company-”

            “I don’t want to be a fucking receptionist, Howard-”

            “I’m not asking you to be a receptionist; Jesus, Allie, when will you stop thinking the worst of me? I asked you to help with the company—I’m sure we can find something worthwhile for you to do!”

            Alexandrina bit her lip hard enough to draw blood. “I just—everyone is doing something and I’m just sitting here on my hands, hoping to God we don’t get officers coming to our door, telling us Steve is MIA. I can’t sit here like this! I want to help, Howard!”

            “Then _help_ me!”

            “Help you make weapons? Not likely.”

            “Help me save lives,” Howard retorted. “Help me do philanthropic work. We can sell war bonds, start organizations, send the boys at the front supplies. I’ve been asking you to help for weeks. That’s what I meant.”

            “…I’m sorry,” Alexandrina muttered self-consciously.

            “For what? Being cranky for months or for constantly thinking the worst of me?”

            Alexandrina went purple.

            “All right, apology accepted,” Howard amended with a smirk. “Let’s start thinking of things for you to do. Maybe some sort of cause…”

            “The war _is_ a cause.”

            “Well, a cause within a cause, then.” He smiled, and Alexandrina saw a mixture of love, pity, and relief in it. “I know you want to help like everyone else, Allie, and I know you hate waiting around, but… you’re not a battlefield type. Like me.”

            “I know,” Alexandrina agreed, but not without regret.

            “You’re much better here,” Howard told her, soothingly. “Besides, people like Steve and Lydia need people like you waiting at home.”

            “…I make it easier to come back.” She sighed. “God, I miss him.”

 

**November 20, 1943**

 

After learning how to shoot a pistol from Peggy and kicking her ass in a simulated battle situation—it had been close, but Lydia had still won—the men not only called her the Angel of Death, but also (under their breath) “Full Metal Bitch.” Lydia enjoyed it, and had written to Alexandrina about overhearing the nickname from Steve’s favorite officer, who had blurted it out in what was supposed to be a private conversation. Alexandrina had added the word “of” in a very inappropriate place.

            Neither she nor Howard had received their call that week.

            Shooting guns and scaring the shit out of recuperating soldiers helped to take Lydia’s mind off the fact that Steve had still not returned with Bucky, despite the fact that it had been a week. Peggy helped to distract her, too, sometimes by continuing the training and sometimes by talking with her, and Lydia had started sleeping with Bucky’s favorite fluffy blanket at night; it helped when she missed Bucky particularly badly.

            She was curled up in the blanket, half asleep, dreaming of Bucky’s voice and his hands on her, when she heard the shouts. Peggy’s heels clicked rapidly down the hallway, but Lydia was already up, blanket discarded on the floor—she threw open her door—

            “He’s b-”

            Lydia was halfway down the hall. Staggering over a lip in the doorway, she kicked off her heels and pelted outside in her socks. People had gathered about twenty feet away from the nurses’ stations, and Lydia barged forward and began to push through to get to the front.

            “That’s Sergeant Barnes’s girlfriend, let her through!”

            _Thank you, Peggy Carter,_ Lydia thought, straightening up as the crowd peeled backward.

            Steve and Bucky were walking at the head of a crowd of exhausted, worn-out men, and Bucky looked the worst. He carried his rifle loosely, almost carelessly, in his hands, as though it weighed three hundred pounds and he would like nothing better than to drop it. His clothes were dirty, tattered in places, his beard was much thicker than Lydia had expected it to be, and his hair was longer, curling over the nape of his neck. He was completely covered in dirt, sweat, and grime, clearly starving, and looked as though he simply wanted to drop to his knees and give up.

            Contrary to his exhausted appearance, though, his body looked anything but tired. Although he was gaunt and bore the obvious scars of what had happened to him, Lydia noticed muscle on him that hadn’t been there before, when he walked or when his arms flexed. His shirt hung half-open, and she could see that the muscles of his chest were a little more defined than they had been. Lydia wasn’t entirely sure—maybe she didn’t _want_ to be—but he might have even been a couple of inches taller.

            The anguish that she hadn’t been able to vocalize welled up in Lydia’s chest and strangled her heart. She’d prepared herself for some sort of change, knowing that Bucky’s carefree innocence would be gone, but this—this physical representation of who he had become and what HYDRA meant to make him—was too much.

            For the first time, she began to cry.

            “HEY!”

            The crowd quieted.

            “LET’S HEAR IT FOR CAPTAIN AMERICA!” Bucky announced triumphantly, and the cheers and applause that had been going on for a good ten minutes swelled again. Steve grinned, turned back to Bucky and patted him on the shoulder, and then leaned in and said something to him.

            Bucky froze.

            Lydia stepped forward, slightly away from the crowd, and Bucky’s face went utterly flat. The people watching went silent, as though they had all received a collective slap in the face.

            Quite without her permission, Lydia’s hands lifted away from her sides, toward Bucky, her palms up. Peggy would later write in a letter to Howard that she looked exactly like the angel the men thought her to be, offering benediction to the war-torn soldier in front of her.

            Bucky’s face didn’t change as he offered his gun to whoever would take it; he didn’t look, but hands relieved him of it. He limped forward, his steps heavy and deliberate, now struggling to walk. He got within arms’ reach of her and lifted his hand, suddenly gripping her shoulder hard enough to leave a bruise.

            Lydia didn’t care.

            “…You’re real,” he rasped, and lifted her into the air; Lydia heard the crowd cheering again and she saw Peggy out of the corner of her eye, leading them to a more private place, but Bucky’s eyes were on hers and she was crying, her tears dripping on his cheeks and down his shirt…

            They were locked in a room, and fell together on a bed—Lydia’s first thought was that Bucky’s weight was crushing her; he was fully on top of her, their limbs tangled awkwardly together, his thick beard scraping her neck. She kept her arms around him, trying to bring him into herself.

            “I love you,” he muttered against the skin of her neck, and Lydia softly stroked his hair, not daring to tell him that he’d said it in German.


	13. Tendrement, Pasionement F

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Swearing, allusions to Bucky's PTSD, drinking, discussion of kinks and why people have them, awkward moment in the bedroom, coitus interruptus, fluff at the end

“You’re so pretty,” Bucky murmured for what had to be the thousandth time, watching Lydia tranquilly while Peggy cut his hair and shaved him. He’d been saying it continually, sometimes alternating it with, “I love you,” (thankfully in English) all day. She hadn’t yet been able to hide her smile every time he did.

            “Hold still, Sergeant,” Peggy reprimanded, but she was grinning. The razor swiped across his face one more time, and then she took the towel and blotted him. “There, you’re done. Ready to dance the night away.”

            “What are we waitin’ for? Let’s go,” he answered with a playful grin, winking at Lydia as he said it. Peggy flounced out.

            “Oh, Bucky, you know I’m a shit dancer-”

            “Doll, _you_ know they’re all gonna be expecting me to come out. It’s a big celebration, and I wanna take ya out and show ya off.” He was still smiling, but his eyes had lost their spark of mischief. “Though if… if I had my way, I wouldn’t go at all. Just stay here and fuck ya senseless.” He chuckled, hiding his discomfort. “But… Stevie kinda put it together last-minute, so… I gotta at least make an appearance.”

            _Don’t make me go alone._ The words hung, heavy, in the air between them, and Lydia stepped forward and put a hand on his shoulder. “Sometimes Steve doesn’t always know what’s best.”

            “That’s an understatement,” Bucky chortled, kissing her cheek, and then became serious. “I forgot you’re the one person I can’t hide jack shit from… How do ya do it, doll? Lay me out like that?”

            “I don’t know,” Lydia answered, her voice quiet. “But would it help if I said I feel just as vulnerable around you as you do around me?”

            “Yes,” he said, and stroked her cheek.

            “Come on, get dressed,” she sighed after a minute. “The sooner we get there, the sooner we can leave.”

            Bucky grinned, following after Lydia like a trusting duck. After the initial horror of entering the bar and sitting through a couple of jovial songs that made both of them want to tear their ears out, Lydia got snagged by a couple of her fellow nurses and Steve took Bucky to sit at the bar.

            “How’re you feelin’, jerk?”

            “I’d be better if I had a drink in my hand, punk. Preferably hard liquor.”

            Steve got one of the bartenders and he brought over two unusually large shots of whiskey. Bucky took a test sip of his, grinned, and threw it back.

            “Another one—nah, wait, make it vodka, please.”

            “Buck…” Steve’s brow knitted. “We should talk.”

            “About?”                      

            “You’ve been cleared to go home… and I want you to go.”

            “Stevie-”

            “No, don’t ‘Stevie’ me. I know exactly what you’re gonna say, and I’m gonna stop you right now.” He sighed. “The nurse in charge of the girls told me that she was okay with Lydia going home, and I think you should go home with her. Howard’s already said you can stay with him until you get back to normal.”

            “Normal…” Bucky muttered, his lip curling. “What about you? You’re officially a soldier now, right? Unless they’re gonna make ya go back to doin’ the shows…?”

            Steve snorted at the hopeful tone in his friend’s voice. “Nah. No thanks. All soldierin’ from this point on.”

            “But you’re keepin’ the outfit, right?”

            Steve blinked, and Bucky caught him glancing wryly at the “SHOWS CANCELED UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE” stamped across the Captain America poster. “You know… it’s kinda startin’ to grow on me,” he answered amusedly. “But… why?”

            “For insidious reasons that I will keep to myself,” Bucky retorted, laughing when he realized how much he sounded like his wife. Steve giggled, and Bucky’s face fell a little. “I can’t go home, Stevie. I can’t leave ya alone here. You’ll have to fight now. I can’t leave ya to do that by yourself.”

            “You damn well will,” Steve commanded him sternly. “If I have to order you as a Captain—which I now officially am—I will. You’re a wounded man, Buck. You can be honorably discharged. And you’ve got a gorgeous girl over there who loves you to bits. You’ve got a chance to live the life you always wanted. You’re not gonna tell me we took that detour to France for nothin’, are ya?”

            Bucky blushed. “No, I just…” He stopped, his embarrassment fading, and looked Steve up and down. “You don’t need me anymore, do ya, punk?”

            “What are you talkin’ about, Buck? Don’t—don’t put it like that!” Steve clapped a hand on his shoulder. “I’ll always need ya. Big little, soldier, Captain America, civilian—it doesn’t matter. You’re my best friend, my brother, and that’s not gonna change. But… you can go home if you want. Be with your best girl.”

            “…I don’t have to… decide right _now,_ do I?”

            “Wha—I thought you’d jump at the chance! You’ve wanted this for ages?” He put his drink down, twisting a bit on his stool to look directly at his friend. “What’s on your mind?”

            “I was just thinkin’ about… if there was a way to find the people who… did what they did… to me-”

            “That’s… highly unlikely, Buck. At least right now. I hate to say this, but I didn’t know what exactly was going on when I found you, and when I got back to camp and I reported everything that was goin’ on, I realized the general didn’t know, either. What they were doin’… I think it’s so classified that most of the _Germans_ don’t know what’s happening. Honestly, I think I got lucky when I found you. It’s not like these people are leavin’ traces everywhere.” He eyed Bucky’s disappointed expression. “But no, you don’t have to decide right now. They’re sendin’ you and Lydia home in a couple’a days. You’ll get extra time—you can stay until New Year’s if you decide you want to come back. I’ll be home on December sixteenth—if you think you still wanna come back, you can come with me.”

            After a moment, Bucky nodded, chewing on his lip. “…You’ve changed.”

            “You just noticed?” Steve joked, and then sighed. “Yeah… yeah, I have. I just hope Drina still likes me when I get home.”

            Bucky snorted and accepted another shot of vodka from the bartender. “Ya wanna talk about a girl who loves ya to bits-”

            “Oh, she’ll love me to bits, all right,” Steve mused, a wry grin on his face. Bucky saw the hint of nostalgia in it and kept his comment to himself.

            “What’s this about bits?” Lydia asked, coming up next to Bucky and tossing back his vodka before he could do anything about it. He ogled her wonderingly, and then broke out into a delighted grin.

            “He loves you to bits,” Steve explained. “Especially now.”

            Lydia laughed and kissed Bucky’s cheek. “I’m sorry, honey. I couldn’t help myself and you weren’t drinking it.”

            “Oh, that reminds me-” Steve got up, went over to a group of soldiers playing cards, and came back to the bar with a wrapped bottle of wine and some chocolates. “The general is gonna let you two use his suite for the night,” he informed them. “There’s a late dinner waiting for you both, and breakfast will come in the morning before you two leave.”

            “Well, doll, looks like we’re all set!” Bucky announced, and hopped off the barstool. Steve gave him a quick hug, and Bucky pounded his shoulder. “You aren’t allowed to be taller than me.”

            “You’re still taller than Lydia.”

            “If I wasn’t, I’d be a little scared,” Bucky answered, snarky, and grinned at her. “Although, ya are pretty tall for a dame, honey.”

            “Five feet and seven inches,” she said proudly.

            Peggy was making her way through the bar, and Bucky made a face. “Let’s get outta here before she says she missed a spot. I’ll see ya soon, punk.”

            “Yeah, ya will, jerk. I’ll see you two off in the morning.”

            Lydia grabbed Bucky’s hand, gratefully leading him away, and they arrived at the suite to find a four-poster bed, complete with a decent mattress, real blankets, and pillows, plural. A plentiful dinner was waiting in the small oven in the corner, and both of them ate it with relish. Lydia looked around and noticed her things, and Bucky’s, had been moved in as well, and to her immense surprise, Mr. Bear was sitting on the night table by the bed.

            “How did you-”

            Bucky smirked, going over and picking up the worn bear. “A few of the guys and I hid him,” he told her. “There was a hole in the floor, and I stuffed him in it. The guys and I would take turns sittin’ on it, hidin’ him. They never took us all at once, so he made it out. He and my dog tags were pretty much it.”

            Lydia ran her fingers across the bear’s fur. “Then what’s the rest of this?” she asked, gesturing to the small case.

            “New uniform and civvies from Peggy.” He popped open the wine. “Heads up.”

            The cork flew out of the bottle and hit the opposite wall, and Lydia snorted.

            “This reminds me of the night we met,” Bucky told her, his eyes crinkling in a knowing smile. Lydia hugged Mr. Bear closer to her and smiled back; he poured them both glasses of wine, then sat down, leaning back in his chair and relaxing. Lydia put Mr. Bear back on the night table and turned back.

            “Hey, Bucky?”

            He didn’t respond—he didn’t even turn to look at her. His hand was still gripping the wineglass, frozen in the air. His knuckles had gone white.

            “Bucky—Buck-” She reached out and touched his other hand. He jerked violently and moved before she had a chance to get away. In three seconds flat, she was pinned against the wall, her arms up over her head on either side of her. His grip was bruising; he panted heavily, digging his fingers into her skin.

            “Bucky—ouch-”

            “Oh, God!” His voice cracked. “I’m so sorry, doll—I didn’t mean to, Lydia, I swear-” He let go of her, but when she reached for him, he held up a hand, turning slightly away and blocking her from himself, almost falling over in the chair. “Doll, please don’t touch me right now, I don’t think I can handle it.” Bucky took a shuddering breath, clearly holding back tears. Lydia clasped her hands to her chest with a supreme effort and waited. “…I didn’t mean to hurt ya,” he whispered, after a horrible pause.

            “You didn’t!” she blurted quickly, attempting to reassure him, aware that she sounded a little ridiculous and not caring. “Besides… I wouldn’t exactly… mind if you did it again. Although I’d prefer it if you’d kiss me this time.”

            It took Bucky a few seconds longer than Lydia anticipated, but Bucky finally met her eye, confusion on his face. “What do ya mean?”

            “I didn’t mind when you did that and I’d like you do to it again and kiss me.”

            “When I slammed ya up against the wall and put your wrists up over the head… you didn’t mind.”

            “Yes—er, no. I did not mind.”

            “Why the hell would ya want me to do that to ya?”

            “Um—because-” She wondered briefly if the phrase “turned on” was in use yet. “It… it would make me feel good… in a sexual way… if you did.”

            His eyebrow shot up, and he rose slowly to his feet. Lydia kept her hands tight to her chest. Hesitantly, he walked to her, peeled her wrists away from her body, and held them in his hands, watching her curiously as he lifted them back over her head. Lydia took a breath, and he noticed her nipples, taut and hard through her blouse. “Oh… doll… ya _do_ like it,” he purred, intrigued, and lightly set his lips on hers.

            “Bucky-”

            “Shhh,” he told her. “I think I like ya like this, doll… all flushed and needy for me… but there’s just one problem.” He was grinding lightly on her now, his grip on her wrists a little stronger.

            “Wha—what?”

            “I can’t put my hands all over ya, doll. _Shit._ You’re ready, aren’t ya? All jumpy… your legs are shakin’, sweetheart…” He kissed her neck, his mouth hot and desperate, and then smiled, his lips peeling back from his teeth in what was _almost_ a leer. “Ya wanna be on that bed, baby… spread out like this… for me? …Would ya want me to fuck ya this way?”

            Lydia came abruptly; she hadn’t been expecting it, and let out a small squeak.

            “God _damn,”_ Bucky groaned, and then smiled. “I missed that. I missed ya so much, doll—wait, I know what to do. Undress, baby.”

            She did. Bucky stripped out of his clothes and went over to his suitcase, rummaging through until he came up with the tie of his new uniform. He presented it to her. “Is it okay if I use this so I can touch ya?”

            Lydia nodded. Bucky eyed her sternly for another second, making sure, and then led her to the bed, easing her down onto it and lifting her wrists above her head, gently tying them together before linking the tie itself to the bed. “Does that hurt?”

            “No.”

            “Do ya need me to scoot ya up, doll?”

            “A little. There. That’s good.”

            “It isn’t too tight, is it?”

            “No.”

            “Tell me if it hurts, okay?”

            “Bucky.”

            “Yes, Squeaky?”

            “If you don’t start touching me right now, I’m going to scream. Loudly. Everyone will wake up.”

            He laughed nervously. “If ya don’t like it, do that anyway.”

            “Okay, Bucky.” She arched impatiently upward. “Please, Sarge…”

            “Aw, God,” he muttered, and began kissing her neck, but slowly, now unsure of himself. Lydia mewled, and he moved down to her breasts, but he couldn’t help himself from continually stopping to check on her.

            “Bucky.”

            His eyes widened. “Yeah?”

            “We don’t have to do this—if it’s making you uncomfortable-”

            “Doll, you’re the one who’s tied up, shouldn’t it be me worried if you’re uncomfortable?”

            _“James.”_

            He blinked, alarmed.

            “I _want_ you to yank at me and I want the tie to leave marks on my wrists. I _want_ to not be able to do anything while you fuck me senseless. I. Like. It. It’s okay, Bucky, I-” She went silent at the look on his face, and then the color drained from hers. “Oh my God, Bucky—untie me. Oh God, I’m so _sorry_ -”

            He ripped the tie off and Lydia’s face crumpled. “My God, I’m a fucking idiot-”

            “No, no you’re not.” He took her in his arms, and amazingly, a little giggle escaped him. “You’re one strange dame, though. Don’t cry, doll, please. It’s all right. Hush.” He stroked her hair, his giggles escalating. “Why do ya like that?”

            “I don’t know, I-”

            She sniffed and wiped her eyes on the bedsheet. “I’m always… I’m always in control of myself. I never let anybody see me upset, or angry, or broken down, or… sexually aroused. I always hold my emotions in. Everybody around me _feels_ too much and _I_ feel too much sometimes and I… I don’t like it. I never liked the idea of someone seeing me cry, or scream.” She shrugged. “I told you, I feel vulnerable around you. Sometimes, I still don’t like it, but…”

            He waited, running his thumb along her jawline.

            “I like the idea of a man— _you_ —having power over me—just in the bedroom, though, mind you. You try that anywhere else and you’ll be out on your ass. But you having sexual power over me… makes me feel good. I don’t have to care. I don’t have to worry about what I look like. I can just feel. And there aren’t any consequences for it. Well… I mean, it’s terrifying, a little; sex in general is kind of terrifying because it’s sometimes embarrassing and I tend to never lose my composure—but the idea that you can make me go to pieces under you… it’s a release.”

            “You… ya trust me. Ya trusted me and I got all—ridiculous about it—Jesus Christ, doll, I’m sorry.”

            “Bucky, stop. Don’t apologize. Don’t you dare. I wasn’t thinking—it was my fault-”

            “If ya were thinkin’ during sex with me, I’d wonder what I was doin’ wrong,” he quipped, smirking. “You were trustin’ me, and I ruined it. I’m sorry, Squeaky.”

            She smiled, and tentatively, took his hand. He looked down at it, and then suddenly, threw himself off the bed. “Oh my _God_ , doll, I completely forgot—how the hell did I forget—well, we were gonna fuck, so there’s that but—Jesus Christ, next thing ya know, I’ll forget my own damn name-”

            “Just as long as you don’t forget me,” Lydia muttered under her breath, not intending for him to hear.

            “I could never forget you,” he said softly, sounding a little offended, and she went red. He dumped the contents of his bag haphazardly on the bed and pawed through them, getting more anxious by the second. “Especially because—because I want ya to marry me.”

            Lydia went still.

            “Here it is!” Bucky gave an explosive sigh of relief and held a box out to her. “Thought I’d lost it for a second there. Well… open it!”

            She did. Inside was a white gold ring with an emerald in the center. Her mouth dropped.

            “Told ya I’d get a Parisian ring for that pretty hand. That’s why it took us so long to get back, we caught a ride to get into Fra-” He stopped when he saw her terrified expression. “Doll? Please say somethin’.”

            “It’s… oh, Bucky, it’s beautiful…”

            “So will ya, Squeaky? Take my name, be my wife?”

            Lydia burst into tears all over again. “Of course I will. I love you, Bucky. I love you so much.”

            He brought her into his arms, then gently slid the ring on her finger. “I love you, too. That’s not somethin’ I could ever forget.”


	14. Tendrement Pasionement G

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Swearing, fluff, angst, mentions of sex, discussion of sexual kinks, slight smut, a huge fight between Lydia and Drina

“HOWARD? HOWARD STARK, GET DOWN HERE!”

            “I sincerely regret my promise to help you with causes,” Howard groaned to himself, beleaguered, and hauled himself off his comfortable bed, walking down the hallway and down a flight of stairs to the next floor, where his sister waited, surrounded by papers, with a frantic gleam in her eye.

            “I had another idea!”

            “Oh-kay.” He caught the “God” just in time.

            Alexandrina glared hatefully. “You plan on growing Stark Industries, right? Passing it onto a family?”

            Howard nodded, but Alexandrina caught the hopeless look on his face before he got control of it. “You’ll have one,” she quietly reassured him. He nodded again, but this time, it was meant to humor her. Even though she knew she should leave it, she couldn’t bring herself to. “Howard, if you just got out there and looked for someone-”

            “I don’t _want_ to, Allie!”

            “But you can’t just sit here and mope-”

            “I can and I will-”

            “You’re not getting Lydia; we’ve already been through this a hundred times-”

            “Yes, we have, so why don’t you stop-”

            “You’re wasting your life!”

            “So let me waste my life, then! Discussion over. What idea did you have?”

            “Lydia wouldn’t want you to do this to yourself,” Alexandrina snapped at him, and shrank from the pure disgust for her on his features. “I’m sorry—I couldn’t help it—it’s wired in my DNA-”

            “I am _fully aware_ that you can’t not have the last word on anything,” he snarled. “You know, maybe if you actually tried to help the things you say you couldn’t, our parents might have been prouder of the way I was trying to run their company.”

            The only reason that Alexandrina did not respond to that was because she had no idea that any of that had happened. “…So. Um… the company,” she squeaked. “I was… I was thinking… you have this mansion, but you do your work in a lot of places Obadiah gives you. Labs and basements and such. And I know he’s your best friend, but let’s face it, he’s a total creep. And he’s not trustworthy, Howard, I’m serious—don’t give me that face. I mean it. He’s out for your money and he’ll do whatever it takes to get it.” She heaved a sigh. “So… I was thinking… what if you built a tower?”

            “Huh?”

            “A skyscraper.”

            “You mean like that awful Trump monstrosity downtown?”

            “Yeah, like that,” Alexandrina answered, distaste curling her lip. “But Howard, if you built a tower of your own, you’d put him out of business in a couple of weeks!” She couldn’t stop the gleeful giggle that flew out of her mouth, and Howard looked askance at her. “Sorry—I just hate that guy,” she muttered, and then realized that Donald Trump, the orange orangutan extraordinaire, hadn’t been born yet. “Hey… are vasectomies a thing yet? Or should we just go for all-out castration?”

            _“What?”_ Howard squawked, cupping himself protectively.

            The doorbell rang, saving them both more mortification, and Howard sprinted out of the room, still holding his genitals with one hand. Alexandrina followed him, still hooting, and when Howard opened the door, they saw Bucky and Lydia standing there.

            “You’re _home!”_ Alexandrina shrieked, and hugged Lydia, then Bucky. “Oh my God, I was so worried about both of you—you came home, I can’t believe it-”

            “We’re fine,” Lydia told her, a knowing smile playing on her lips, and Alexandrina saw a sparkle on the wall, which she then traced back to her friend’s left hand.

            “OH MY GOD!”

            Bucky and Howard covered their ears. Alexandrina grabbed Lydia’s wrist, dragged her back to her bedroom, slammed the door, and took a good look at the ring. “You’re _engaged?”_

“Yes.”

            Alexandrina squealed, hugged her friend, and then abruptly froze. “You’re _engaged,”_ she repeated, and this time, her phrase held the understanding of all the implications for her friend’s emotional well-being. “Lydia… are you sure? I mean… you’ll just get hurt.”

            “Well, I couldn’t exactly tell him, ‘No, I can’t marry you, because you’re just going to die in a couple of months,’ could I?”

            “Lydia…” Alexandrina licked her lips. “Lydia… what if we tell them? This changes things. We could tell them what we know. It would stop them going off to fight HYDRA. They’d never get on that train, or that plane. They’d stay here with us. And we could stay with them. You could stay married to Bucky, and I could be with Steve… we could have them. That has to be why we’re here. To save them.”

            “Alexandrina, we’ve talked about this. You don’t know any of that. And that’s probably not why we’re here.”

            “But-”

            “Drina. If we try to tell them who we are and where we’re from, they’d just lock us in an institution. And group therapy isn’t in a thing in those places yet!”

            “Bucky wouldn’t lock you up; he loves you!”

            “He would if he felt threatened,” Lydia shot back.

            “But we have to-”

            “No. You know what? We don’t have to. We don’t have to do shit. We had lives at home. Families. Friends. Things to do. Places we could have gone.”

            “Our lives were shit, and you know it.”

            “Yeah, well, I wasn’t planning on remaining stuck,” Lydia retorted. “We didn’t ask to come here, and you know that. We got thrown here with no warning, against our wills, and instead of trying to figure out how and why and how we should get back home, we set about methodically breaking our own hearts. We acted like we didn’t have a choice in the matter, and we did, so no, I am not going to do a goddamn thing, because if I try to save him, I know I will make things worse.”

            “You can’t tell me that I don’t know and then say you know what’s going on,” Alexandrina told her, hurt. “Maybe you just don’t love Bucky enough to help him. Are you just using him, then?” 

            Lydia backhanded her across the face. “You miserable _fucking-”_

“I regretted it as soon as I said it,” Alexandrina stammered, her voice cracking. “I’m so sorry—I didn’t mean it—I just don’t want to lose Steve-”

            “YOU—are not the only one that is facing losing someone you love!” Lydia turned her shriek into a furious whisper to stop Howard and Bucky hearing her. “God, I am so sick of you spewing your shit all over everyone else! And I bet Howard and Steve are, too!” She stopped Alexandrina from talking. “You cannot possibly understand the way I am feeling right now! I’ve been alone all my life; no sisters, no brothers, maybe three _real_ friends, no real relationships! No one has _ever_ looked at me the way Bucky does! He looks at me like I’m the one thing in the world that makes his life worthwhile—like I’m the best thing that ever happened to him! All he has to do is smile at me and everything I ever believed about myself—that I was worthless, that I would end up alone because I didn’t know how to be in a relationship—all of that just goes away. Jesus Christ, I don’t even know who I am anymore because he—he does this thing to me, and I don’t understand it! You don’t know what it feels like to face losing what might be your only chance at a life with the right person! You’ve never been alone, you hate it! And boys always wanted to be with you—Christ, you can barely exist without a guy’s dick up your ass!” She noticed Alexandrina’s thunderstruck expression, but plowed on, promising herself that she would apologize later. “You have no idea what this is like. This is my only shot. I may never get home, and I’m never going to love anyone the way I love Bucky again. I have one shot at this. And there’s no win for me. I could tell him and he could still end up… that way. And it would be my fault. I could not tell him and let things unfold like they do. I could not tell him and-” She swore horribly. “No matter what I do, I’ll lose what I have. He’ll either die or… never look at me the same way again.”

            Alexandrina was crying now, tears running down her face. “You don’t get to invalidate the way I feel because I don’t live my life the way you think I should,” she spat. “And yeah, I know I’m a real fuck-up. Howard made that clear, and Steve did too. But you know what? He _forgave_ me. I didn’t deserve it, and he forgave me. He doesn’t dig at my faults the way everyone else—including you—does. I mean, my own _mother_ made a huge deal of doing that. He had every right to walk away after what I did to him, but he didn’t. All those boys whose dicks I ‘can’t exist without’ could never _measure_ up to Steve. I wasted _so goddamn much_ of my life on idiots because I was so desperate for the kind of love I try to give to other people. I wasted so much time going from person to person to person instead of stepping back and really looking for the man who could give what I wanted to me. You didn’t waste your life, Lydia! You became a whole person, and Jesus fucking Christ, I am so jealous of that! You’re right—I don’t know how to exist alone, and now I’m facing _sixty-seven years_ of it, after I find the one person who wants to give me the kind of love that I definitely don’t deserve, but that I’ve always wanted. So _excuse_ _me_ for being a little pissy about that and trying to come up with an actual solution to the problem! No, we never had to do anything, but I sure as hell wanted to.”

            “I just…,” Lydia mumbled after a moment, her voice exhausted. “Look, I’ve been through every scenario possible—everything I can think of. Faking our identities, just running away, telling Steve not to form the Howling Commandos and just go fight like a regular soldier instead… and nothing ends well. Not a single one of my ideas ends well, Drina. And I’m not being negative here. I mean, what if we tell them and it’s _Steve_ who falls off the train? Do you really think you could deal with _Captain_ _America_ , your Steve Rogers, being the fucking _Winter Soldier?”_

Alexandrina’s “no” was barely audible, but Lydia heard it.

            “Damn right you couldn’t. Dark and broody guys are my thing,” Lydia joked, and offered her a small smile. “I’m sorry.”

            “I’m sorry, too.” Alexandrina sank in a chair. “So we don’t tell them?”

            “No,” Lydia told her decisively after a long pause. “We can try and keep them from going, but… no. We’re not telling them what we know.”

 

Steve came home a day earlier than he thought, on December fifteenth, and barely stopped to give Alexandrina a hug before dragging Bucky to a back room and sitting down with him. “I need to talk to you about a couple of things,” he began. “First off… I’m assembling a team of men. We’re going to hunt down HYDRA bases across Europe. We found someone who can give us valuable information and well… let’s just say… he’s giving it.” Steve inhaled. “I want you to come with me. Be my sniper.”

            Bucky leaned forward, his eyes growing brighter.

            “You wouldn’t actually be going near any of the bases, not unless you actually wanted to or unless we need more men. I want this to be as safe for you as possible. But… there’s no one else I’d rather have with me.”

            “When do we leave?”

            “January second. But-”

            “Lydia’s not gonna be happy about this,” Bucky finished dully. “Shit.”

            “Talk to her, Buck. Tell her what I told you. No hand to hand combat if we can help it. We’ll get as much as we can as fast as we can. We’d probably send you home sooner than the rest of us, considering… I mean… you could be home permanently and married by March, if we’re all lucky.”

            Bucky nodded. “Maybe she could come with us, as a nurse… God knows we’d need patchin’ up… but Drina will be upset at bein’ left behind again.”

            “Think about it. Give me an answer in a couple days, yeah?”

            “Okay.” Bucky eyed Steve’s rapidly darkening face, confused. “Ya said there were a couple’a things ya wanted to talk to me about?”

            “Yeah, I… I, uh… wanna have sex with Drina.”

            “Pre-marital sex? Steven Grant Rogers!” Bucky teased him, clutching at his heart.

            “Shut up, Buck.”

            “That’s great! Go do it!”

            “I don’t know what to do… and I want Drina to like it.”

            “And you’re askin’ me for tips? Why not her? Just go in there and learn the good way!”

            “I can’t go in there, not knowin’ what to do! I’d look stupid.”

            “Aw, poor Steve,” Bucky cajoled him, a shit-eating grin on his face. “Okay, I’ll give ya a crash course.”

            And exactly thirty minutes later, Lydia knocked on the door to tell them Drina had dinner ready, and discovered both of them, red-faced and clutching pillows to themselves.

             “Jesus Christ, you’re not a fuckin’ saw blade, Stevie, ease up—oh, hi, doll.”

            “What the hell is going on in here?”

            “Nothin’.”

            “Are you two talking about sex?”

            Steve went purple.

            “He doesn’t wanna go see Drina not knowin’ what to do with her,” Bucky explained, after he had stopped laughing and regained his composure. “He’s worried about embarrassin’ himself.”

            “Honestly, that might turn Drina on,” Lydia muttered, a mix of exasperation and hilarity on her face.

            “What—oh you mean—what? Why?”

            “She kind of likes being the one to take care of the other person in the bedroom… and she’s got a teeny itty bitty bit of a mommy kink.”

            Bucky gagged, coughing out of surprise. “I’m not sure if that means what I think it means, but-”

            “Oh, it does,” Lydia told him, smirking widely. “She’d never admit it, but she tends to attract adorable guys who she can take care of in the bedroom. She likes the power trip, and needs to be needed.”

            “I am not adorable!” Steve squealed indignantly, ignoring Bucky choking and snorting.

            “So really, you might not have to _do_ much at all,” Lydia continued blithely, as if she hadn’t been interrupted at all. “Breast play does absolutely nothing for her and clitoral stimulation gives her panic attacks because the orgasms are too intense, so you’re going to get all the foreplay, and all you have to do is stick it in and keep to a rhythm.”

            “So I just wasted half an hour.”

            “Bucky! Not necessarily,” Lydia answered. “You can’t let Steve go in there clueless and embarrass himself. _That’s_ a tiny bit disturbing.”

            “But didn’t you say you liked-” Bucky bit down on it just in time, and they both turned a healthy pink.

            “There’s a difference between not knowing what to do, and letting someone have power over you,” Lydia explained gently. “I knew what was going on; I fully consented to it. If you don’t know what’s happening to you, or how sex works, you can’t fully consent. You had never had a woman put her mouth on you before, but you knew what was happening. You’d just never had it done. That’s the difference.”

            Bucky went bright red. “Okay, okay, that makes more sense.”

            Neither of them had noticed Steve helplessly mouthing _clitoral stimulation_ in the background, but now Lydia turned on him with a ferocity that made him jump. “Oddly enough, however, Drina also likes getting bruises during sex and being told what to do, so when you get more comfortable, you should definitely put her up against a wall and go all ‘Captain’ on her.”

            “GUYS! DINNER!” Alexandrina bellowed from downstairs. Lydia backed out of the room, giggling.

            “…Your dame is… that is the strangest woman I have ever met,” Steve finally choked out.

                “Yeah, she’s different, all right,” Bucky mused. “There’s somethin’… odd about her. I’ve known it ever since I met her. I can’t put my finger on it.” He smiled fondly. “But I love her for it. I mean, a few months ago, I would’a said she wasn’t my kind’a dame. But now… I can’t see myself with anyone else."


	15. Tendrement, Pasionement H

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Fluff, angst, marriage, swearing, a fight between Lydia and Bucky

“Hey, Squeaky? Whaddaya say we get married?”

            “I am not squeaky, and we just got engaged, Bucky,” Lydia giggled.

            “Well, I know, but…”

            “But?”

            “Steve, uh…” Bucky visibly braced himself. “Steve asked me to join a group he’s formin’… to go after the people that tortured me. He wants me to be the sniper. And… I wanna marry you before I go.”

            “I don’t think you need me to tell you how terrible of an idea that would be,” Lydia hissed through gritted teeth.

            “I hope ya don’t mean marryin’ me,” Bucky attempted to joke, and flinched after it fell flat. “No, I don’t need ya to tell me. I know it’s a shit idea. Trust me, I do. But… but I gotta do this, doll. And I’d like to make us official before I go.”

            “No, you do not _have_ to go,” Lydia snarled. All of her plans for discussing this gently had apparently made a hasty exit through the nearest window, but she didn’t care. “You do not _have to_ do anything, Bucky. You have a choice. Steve isn’t forcing you to go, and you aren’t being drafted this time. You are a wounded prisoner of war, Bucky! Your service is over; you can officially be honorably discharged now! Why are you telling me you’re going back when one of the first things you ever said to me was an entire _novel_ about how you didn’t want to go in the first place?”

            “For sayin’ I have a choice about whether or not to go, ya don’t seem to be givin’ me much of one,” Bucky responded.

            Lydia froze. “I just—that’s not what I-”

            “Squeaky-”

            _“Don’t you ‘Squeaky’ me!”_ Lydia shrieked. “I’ve been without you for months! I’ve been alone, traipsing across three fucking countries, up to my neck in blood and shit and dying men; I haven’t slept in weeks because my brain wouldn’t shut up about what was happening to you—and now you’re saying you want to go straight back in there like… like some maniac hell-bent on revenge?”

            “Well, I wouldn’t say it exactly like that-”

            “How _would_ you say it, Bucky? No one in his ri—no one would go right back to the place where they were tortured voluntarily just to shoot at everyone!”

            “Harriet Tubman went back on the Underground Railroad-”

            _“You. Are not. Harriet. Fucking. Tubman!”_

“I GOTTA GO, LYDIA!” Bucky bellowed, and she stepped back, startled and miserable. “I gotta go. It’s not a revenge thing—well, maybe a little, but… Steve asked me to go, and I… I just have to. They can’t get away with what they did to me. They can’t be allowed to do that to anyone else.”

            “And you think you and Steve can go stop them singlehandedly? That you can just barge in there with your guns blazing and you can snipe a few people and they’ll say, ‘Oh yes, excuse us, we’re sorry,’ and then clear the way and you’ll come on home?”

            “Of course I don’t think that, I’m not stupid, Lydia,” Bucky spat. “But they can’t just—we can’t just let them go around doing this shit. Someone’s gotta stand up to them-”

            “And it’s always fucking Steve, because he can’t help himself, and then he just drags you along-”

            “That’s not how it works,” Bucky sighed. “Yes, I know Steve is all ready to go in there with his new shield and everyone else is all about shooting HYDRA to bits… but Steve’s not dragging me along. Not this time.” He tried to smile at her and failed. “I wanna go, I wanna help him, and… well, I guess you’re half-right, someone’s gotta keep his stupid in check.”

            “You’re not Steve’s babysitter!”

            “No, I’m his brother.” He paused. “Figuratively… but still.”

            Lydia closed her mouth, frustrated.

            “Squ—Lydia, please,” Bucky begged, reaching toward her. “They don’t want me there—just until March, Steve said-”

            “That’s too long!”

            “It’s December, that’s not long at all!”

            “But you probably have PTSD-”

            “What’s PTSD?”

            Lydia went white. “Ah… shell-shock.” She took a deep breath, collecting herself.

            “What’s PTSD stand for?”

            “I am still mad at you,” Lydia snapped.

            “I probably _do_ have shell-shock; that’s why Stevie said he wants me to go home sooner than everyone else. Just March, baby… Doll, I got a million reasons to stay and all of them are you, but…”

            “You’ve already decided.”

            “Squeaky… if you’re lookin’ for me to give ya a logical reason why I’m goin’, I can’t give ya one. There _is_ no logical reason. This is all based on emotion. I hate to say it, but it is. But it doesn’t change the fact that I need to go. Stevie needs me. And I know you do too—I know you’ve been alone for a long time, and I’m so sorry—I’m so fuckin’ sorry, doll-” He caught her hands before she could do anything about it. “But I’ll be back before ya remember I’m gone.”

            Lydia yanked her hands out of his, suddenly realizing that there were tears slipping down her face. “Don’t go,” she whined, aware that she sounded weak and pathetic, and not giving a single fuck. “I have a terrible feeling about this. If you go, you might not come back.”

            “Well, it is a war, doll… there’s always a chance of that. But… I promise I’ll do my best to get back to you. Steve said-”

            “I really don’t care what Steve said,” Lydia pouted.

            Bucky laughed and stepped forward, cradled her face in his hands, and kissed each of her damp cheeks. “I love you,” he murmured. “So… what’s PTSD stand for?”

            “Post-traumatic stress disorder.”

            “What’s that mean exactly? And where did ya get it?”

            “It means that…” Lydia fought for a way to explain it, without giving anything away. “After a person goes through a lot of… pain, whether it’s emotional or physical, or both, they can be… triggered by certain things. They can have… flashbacks. Get upset easily. Maybe their personality changes because of it. And I… um… well, I made up ‘PTSD’ for one of my books.”

            “Sounds professional,” he told her. “God, you’re so smart… you’re not mad at me anymore, are ya?”

            “Yeah, I still am, kinda,” she sniffled.

            “Well, ya still wanna marry me, right, doll?”

            “Of course I do.”

            “How about tomorrow? We can go see a judge… unless ya wanna get married at church, but then we probably wouldn’t be able to marry until I get back…”

            “No, no church. But… does it have to be tomorrow?”

            “What’s wrong with tomorrow?”

            “Well, December sixteenth is kind of random…”

            “So is every other day except holidays, baby. And ya can bet we won’t be the only ones with that idea. And I kind of want the day to ourselves.” He shrugged, grinning.

            “But I don’t have a dress, and I haven’t been back to my flat in ages.”

            “Then I’ll buy ya a dress.”

            _“Absolutely not_ , you just bought me the ring and I _know_ that was expensive.”

            “I don’t care. We can go dress shoppin’ in the mornin’ and get married in the afternoon.”

            “Bucky-”

            “I’m buyin’ ya a dress, I’ve already bought ya a dress, it’s done and over because I can’t wait for ya to be my wife.”

            Lydia burst out laughing.

 

At a completely unnecessary six o’clock in the morning, Bucky woke up his fiancée, Howard, Steve, and Alexandrina, called his mother and sisters, got dressed, cajoled Howard’s driver into letting them use one of his cars, and after an unbelievably fast breakfast, during which Lydia did not get enough coffee, dragged every single one of them to the only dress shop open at eight-thirty in the morning. Once there, he sat patiently outside, bouncing with excitement, but determined not to see Lydia’s dress until they got married, while the rest of them looked at the dresses, alternating between sullen and sleepy. Alexandrina and Howard both bitched continuously, covering the ground for Lydia, who wanted to, but didn’t dare.

            After picking a dress, they all went to the courthouse, arriving at exactly ten o’clock, just as the first slot became available. A bemused judge, still sipping his own coffee, agreed to draw up the certificate and let Lydia use his restroom to change into her dress.

            “I DON’T HAVE A RING!” Lydia suddenly bellowed from inside. The judge jumped a foot.

            “That’s okay, Squeaky, I don’t, either-”

            “No, it’s not, you don’t have a wedding ring at all and I am perfectly content with the one I have!”

            “But-”

            “No!” Lydia shouted. “I have to get you a ring, Bucky—just let me change and go find one and I’ll be right back-”

            Alexandrina kept her comment to herself, but in the silent pause, it was as if Lydia had heard it. “You _have_ to have a ring, Bucky! Let me just-”

            “I can _make_ Sergeant Barnes a ring!” Howard interrupted.

            “You’re not in the ring business,” Alexandrina told him amusedly.

            “We’re Stark Industries. We can do anything,” he replied arrogantly, smirking. Alexandrina felt a tug on her heartstrings. “Do you have any preferences, Sergeant?”

            “No,” Bucky said at the same time Lydia did. One said it in answer, and one said it in denial.

            “You can’t just _give_ me a ring, Mr. Stark-”

            “I can and I will,” Howard shot back. “When are you gonna learn to call me Howard?”

            “When you learn to call me Bucky.”

            With an effort, Alexandrina lifted her nails from the skin of her palm.

            Lydia came out of the restroom, and Bucky’s mouth dropped. She had picked out a navy blue dress, his favorite color, with a sweetheart neck, with silver beads embedded along it and sewn into flowers on the skirt.

            “God… _Lydia…”_

            “It looks more expensive than it was-”

            “Squeaky, I don’t care. You’re so beautiful.” He brought her to him and was only stopped from kissing her soundly by a cough from the judge.

            As Lydia and Bucky were reciting the necessary words and signing the certificate, Alexandrina grasped Steve’s hand, feeling an ache well up in her stomach. When Alexandrina wasn’t looking, Steve glanced down at her, a small smile on his face.

            Bucky saw it, and winked at him.

            “You may now kiss the bride,” the judge finished teasingly, and Bucky gratefully obliged.

 

On Christmas morning, Bucky was up first, although he did not wake up anyone else this time. Lydia had wrapped herself in all the blankets, and looked like a sleeping burrito. Grinning at the sight, he got up, put on house slippers, and went out to make coffee. Soon after, Steve joined him, then Howard, then Lydia. Only after a good hour of waiting were they joined by Alexandrina, who was, in Lydia’s opinion, entirely too chipper.

            “Let’s open presents now!” That was Howard, eager as a puppy. He bounced to the tree, rummaged around in the pile, and came up with a small box, which he presented grandly to Lydia and Bucky. “Merry Christmas!”

            Bucky frowned. “Mr. Stark, you didn’t-”

            “Open it!”

            Rather apprehensively, as though it would explode on him, Bucky did. Inside the box was a metal ring, and when Bucky picked it up, he and Lydia could see the words, _Plus que ma propre vie, 12/16/1943_ engraved on the outside.

            “I’m sorry it’s not gold,” Howard said, nervousness all over his face. “I mean, if you don’t like it, I can always re-engrave it, but metal is a hell of a lot easier to work with. Also, the phrase is French; it means-”

            “More than my own life,” Lydia finished.

            Alexandrina burst into tears. Lydia found that, as much as she yearned to, she couldn’t follow.

            “I just thought… since your ring is from Paris…” Howard stammered, eyeing Alexandrina as though she was a detonated bomb, “that… you know. And before you two say anything, I am aware that a couple usually has a say in their rings, but Lydia didn’t, and except for when you’re trying to spoil each other, you’re both so practical that it’s disgusting, so… you two… you deserve better than that. And I can do it for you. Honestly, I… I’ve never seen a couple more in love.”

            “…Aren’t you gonna put it on me, doll?” Bucky asked his wife.

            Slowly, as if coming out of a stupor, she plucked the ring from Bucky’s palm and slid it onto his finger.

            Howard turned next to Alexandrina and Steve. “You two come in at a very close second, as couples in love go,” he began, “and I know for a fact that when this ridiculous war ends, Allie isn’t going to have any more of this ‘Captain America off-to-war’ bullshit. She’s going to keep you at home for the rest of your life. So… I thought you two should have a decent home to go to.” He handed them an envelope, which contained a picture of a one-story cottage, surrounded by land and trees… along with the deed to the home.

            “How—Howard,” Steve stuttered, “this is too much-”

            “No, it’s not.”

            “Howard-” Alexandrina choked, “I don’t deserve-”

            “It’s already done,” Howard retorted firmly. “No buts. It’s a nice big house, and there are multiple bedrooms in case Captain Terrified and Shriveled over here doesn’t want to share.”

            Steve went a mortified shade of purple. Alexandrina spilled her coffee all over the carpet, Lydia snorted so hard she coughed, and Bucky lost it entirely, ending up nearly sobbing with laughter on his wife’s lap. Steve waited, glowering, for everyone to regain their composure, and then rootled under the tree, handing Alexandrina the present he pulled out. She opened it with shaking hands.

            “I won’t need another bedroom,” he announced primly. Inside the box was a gold ring, with a circular diamond in the center. “Will you marry me, Drina?”

            Bucky whooped. Alexandrina startled at it, began crying in earnest, and then through her arms around Steve, able only to nod frantically. Lydia and Bucky heard Howard mutter, “They’ll have to use another bedroom as a nursery five seconds after they get there.”

 

They celebrated the New Year with champagne and kisses, together, but on the night of January first, 1944, there was a palpable change in the air, and every one of them felt it. Alexandrina, who had been intending to keep Steve flat on his back (and herself on top of him) all day to ring in the New Year, suddenly couldn’t bring herself to, and instead stayed close to him, simply gripping his hand with a need that he also communicated to her every time he brought her close to him. It wasn’t too late, things could still change (or so she kept trying to reassure herself)… but the clock was winding down.

            Bucky came to Lydia that night, his intent clear in his eyes.

            He was going to stop that clock.

            Neither of them spoke; he simply lifted her from her chair, removed her slip, and put his lips to her neck, his hot, wet mouth leaving bruises on her skin, starting at her collarbone, going down to her breasts, her hips, her thighs…

            He used his tongue on her, peeling her apart with his fingers and licking her, deeply and deliberately, until she came in a heavy and accusing silence. Briefly, he reared up over her, stroking himself, almost casually, before plunging in, lifting her high until he was fully seated. They both shuddered; each of them felt it in the other, and Bucky leaned down and trapped her hands over her head, leaving her helpless as he drew all the way out and eased all the way in, over and over until Lydia came so hard that tears ran down her face.

            Lydia leaned over him after he had rolled away and began leaving the same marks on his skin that he had left on hers; she made sure that the bruises were dark enough to keep from healing for a long time to come.

            HYDRA would see what they were taking from her.

            She took him in her mouth, sucking him, teasing him, bringing him closer and closer to the edge, only to take it away, until she knew every fiber of his being. His body was hers, his need was hers, and just before he climaxed, she brought herself down on him, offering herself, flexing and grinding, listening to his panting breaths, watching his pleading eyes.

            When she had his soul, she let him come.

            All night, they used each other, sometimes making love, sometimes fucking. Neither said a word or uttered a sound louder than a mournful moan. Neither discussed anything, or asked the other questions they both already knew the answer to. Touch was there for what they couldn’t bring themselves to say.

            Bucky’s hand fisted in Lydia’s hair— _I’m not getting out of this alive._

Lydia ran a hand soothingly down his chest— _you’ve made your decision; we both have to accept it._

Bucky pounded into her; Lydia met his anguished thrusts with her own.

            _Why didn’t you stop me?_

_I tried._

Bucky ran a finger down her cheek. _You’re a different sort of dame; I will love you, but never understand you._

Lydia smiled, her eyes shining brightly, gleaming with her secrets. _I’m an enigma and I’ll keep it that way, thank you very much._

Early in the morning, as his new wife lay sleeping, Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes left her a note, using the new fountain pen he had bought her for Christmas, and wrapped her in the blankets in just the way she liked. Slowly, he brushed his lips across her cheeks and mouth; he had to force himself to turn his back on her and walk away.

            _Remember that I love you._


	16. Part 3: A La Folie A

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Fight between Alexandrina and Steve, bittersweet Bucky and Steve moment

**January 2, 1944**

“He can’t leave without me! I’m his Captain!”

            “He’s probably just dealing with his apartment or his bank accounts. Maybe he’s buying some supplies. You know… extra blankets,” Howard soothed, a little lamely.

            “But why did he not wait for us to take him to the train station?” Steve questioned irritably. “I mean, we could have said goodbye properly then-”

            “Lydia already went through that once,” Alexandria interrupted. “Maybe Bucky just didn’t want to put her—both of them—through that again.”

            “Well, clearly Lydia wasn’t asked first,” Howard muttered under his breath.

            Alexandrina flinched, trying unsuccessfully to forget the sounds of Lydia’s cries that had woken her up that morning. They had parted this time with no hope between them, and that made it all the more obvious to Alexandrina that she was running out of chances to save Steve.

            “Likely, he’s just gone to meet Peggy,” Steve speculated, and put a relaxed arm around her; she accepted the hug gratefully. “At any rate, I gotta be at the station in an hour. We should get ready.”

            Howard sighed. “I’ll go get a car.”

            Steve balked. “Not a flashy one-”

            “No. I promise.”

            Steve nodded and trudged back to his room. Anxiously, Alexandrina followed.

            “Honey, if you’re gonna tell me-”

            “Call it off.”

            “I can’t, Drina.” Steve was putting in a serious effort to keep the smirk off his face, and Alexandrina’s rage rose at the sight of it. “I already started it, love. I have to finish this.”

            “No, you don’t!” she retorted, and to her satisfaction, the struggling smirk left his face and he stepped back, startled. “You’ve got a choice. You can stop this right now. Call Bucky and tell him to come home. Make Peggy lead your group. Anybody but you,” she pleaded.

            “Are you gonna do this every time I leave?” he asked, trying to smile at her and bring back the gentle exasperation.

            Alexandrina wasn’t having it. “I have a really bad feeling about this, Steve,” she blurted. “I just… I just think you might not come home. And I can’t live with that!”

            “Of course I will,” he contradicted her, keeping his voice low, speaking as though he were in front of a trapped animal.

            “Well, yeah, there’s a chance you could come home in a _coffin_.”

            “Drina, come on, don’t think like that—you’re supposed to be the positive one!”

            “It’s just a front!” Alexandrina shouted. “I mean—when it comes to my own life. I just do that because I can’t bear even thinking about the fact that I might lose you.”

            “Drina… you have to know… I’ll always do my best to come home to you.”

            “I know, but sometimes your best isn’t enough.”

            “Drina-”

            “You don’t have to do this, Steve!” she repeated, her face reddening rapidly. “You don’t have to put together some stupid, special unit to go after those people, and I don’t know where in fucking hell you got the idea that you did! You don’t have to take Bucky away from Lydia, and you definitely don’t have to leave me-”

            “Technically, it was his idea, Drina!” Steve shouted, and Alexandrina flinched, startled. “He was the one who said he wanted to go after them, the night he got back. I didn’t think it was possible, not then, but we got some leads, and-”

            “You mean you’re torturing information out of someone,” Alexandrina grumbled.

            “I am not-”

            “Maybe _you’re_ not, but someone is,” she retorted. “And tell me, how does that make you any better than the people who tortured Bucky, hmm?”

            “Don’t you dare condescend to me,” Steve snarled.

            “Oh, big words from the big, tough man-”

            “Stop it!” He took a step forward out of pure, pent-up frustration, and Alexandrina backed away, a horrified expression on her face. “You _need_ to understand that this is a _war_! Things happen, Drina—things you hate, things you don’t condone by any means, the least of which is murder! War isn’t clean, and decisions made during war are never easy. Diplomacy doesn’t work when someone has a gun to your head or when you find your best friend strapped to a table, half out of his mind and sobbing for his wife! We can’t just let all this slide; we have to do something! We have to take action and make sacrifices-”

            “I’ve sacrificed enough!” Alexandrina screamed, and now it was Steve who took a step back. “Who gave you those leads, Steve? Who the hell thought they had any right to take you away from me, to take Bucky away from Lydia when he could be honorably discharged right fucking now?”

            “Jesus, Drina, you’re unhinged,” Steve muttered. Alexandrina scoffed loudly. “And if you’re looking for someone to blame-”

            “Was it Peggy?”

            _“What?”_ Steve’s eyes grew big. “I got the leads from a few people, Drina, not just Peggy. Damn it-”

            “She’s just determined to take you away from me, isn’t she?”

            “Okay, Drina, you are spouting shit and you know it-”

            “Why don’t you fucking listen to someone else for once? You don’t have to go fight them; it’s ten times more dangerous than it would be if you just went back and fought like a regular soldier!”

            “I run the risk of dying either way, and I’d rather run that risk while knowing that I was ensuring that no one else will ever get hurt like Bucky did!”

            “Why don’t you care about what I want?”

            “This is bigger than you!”

            “I’m aware of that!” Alexandrina shouted, and put her hands over her face. “Steve… Steve, you don’t understand. If you go… if you do this… eventually, you _will_ die.”

            “That’s not guaranteed-”

            “Yes, it is,” Alexandrina snapped, quite unaware of having made her decision until this moment. “Steve, listen to me. I know-”

            “Drina?” Lydia had opened their door and was standing, stone-faced, in the hallway. “Drina, Steve has to go.”

            “Okay, give me a-”

            “Now,” Lydia snarled. Alexandrina went white.

            “Lydia, come on-”

            “He’ll be late.”

            Steve perked, nervousness flitting across his face at Lydia’s expression. “Drina… you’re going to come with me to the train station, right?”

            Alexandrina looked back and forth between Lydia and Steve, her hands clenching into fists. Her heartbeat sped up and she took a deep breath, attempting to slow it; nothing helped.

            “Drina… I have to go.”

            Her face crumpled at Steve’s words, and she looked back between the two of them once more. “Then go,” she whispered.

            “You’re coming with me, right?” Steve’s eyes were hopeful.

            “No.”

            “Drina-” That was both Lydia and Steve.

            “NO!” she bellowed, and they winced. “I am DONE watching you leave! I have tried every way I know of to get you to stay, and-” She caught herself, her voice cracking on the last word, and Lydia knew for certain that she had caught Alexandrina very nearly trying the last way. “I can’t… I can’t do this anymore.”

            “Can’t do what?” Steve’s chest rose and fell; his lip trembled.

            “I can’t watch you leave anymore.”

            “Are you—are you break—Drina, please don’t do this. You know I’ll do my best to come home to you—please, I don’t want to watch you leave, either-”

            “You’ll only have to do it once.”

            Steve’s mouth dropped as she twisted the ring he had just given her off his finger and walked out of the room. Shutting the door in Steve’s face, she turned on Lydia. “This is your fault,” she hissed. “You are a goddamn coward. You wouldn’t even give us a chance.”

 

**February 10, 1944**

 

“She’ll come around, Stevie,” Bucky consoled his friend, lighting a cigarette—a sign of just how nervous he was.

            “Put that out!” the driver commanded.

            “Fuck you,” Bucky told him lightly, speaking around the cigarette.

            “Lydia probably isn’t gonna wanna kiss you anymore if you keep smoking those.”

            “Just this once,” Bucky sighed, and Steve heard the tremble in his breath. “She won’t mind.”

            “Speaking of Lydia…” Steve reached in his bag and pulled out a small box of chocolates, a perfect fit for Bucky’s pocket. “One of the other guys gave me these. Said he got them from… er… somewhere and he hates chocolate, so…”

            “He got them from a brothel, didn’t he?”

            Steve snorted.

            “Don’t ya wanna give those to Drina?”

            “She likes popcorn more than she likes sweets.” Steve attempted to hide the misery in his voice and failed.

            “Then we’ll get her some popcorn after we get off this damn train.”

            “Buck, we have spent weeks in several versions of the middle of nowhere. You really think we’re going to find popcorn?”

            “Ya found chocolate.”

            “We are in Switzerland.”

            “Good point.” Bucky sighed. “I’m just tryin’ to-”

            “To what? Help me buy Drina back?”

            “What the fuck, Stevie? I’m trying to help ya fix things! I can see how much ya love her and I know she loves ya-”

            “She only loves me when I’m doin’ what she wants.”

            “That’s absolute shit and ya know it.” Bucky’s nose wrinkled in clear disgust.

            “I don’t know how many times we’re gonna go through this, Buck-”

            “You mean me and you or her and you?” Bucky said, not bothering to keep the smirk off his face. “She doesn’t like bein’ alone, Stevie. Everybody knows that. I don’t think she knew what she was in for when she started goin’ steady with ya, as much as she said she did. She’s real family-oriented and needs people to take care of. She needs to be needed… and every time ya leave, she feels like ya don’t need her, especially because she can’t really go and help. I know that’s not true, and deep down, she does, too, but… ya can’t really stick a Stark on a battlefield. I mean, ya saw how difficult it was for Howard when he was over with us, and he could’a signed up to fight if he wanted.”

            “I know, but-”

            “The war will end someday.” A wistful expression stole its way onto Bucky’s face. “And then we can both tell the government to go fuck itself. We’ll never work or fight for anybody again. And we can go home, and marry the girls, and get nice houses close to each other. Lydia can write her books and Drina can have babies and smother ya to death. Lydia’ll make lots of money, because how could she not? Her books are so good… and maybe when she’s ready, we can talk about kids… and we’ll come home from normal jobs every day and I’ll come over to dinner with ya and your kids’ll call me Uncle Bucky… and we’ll grow old together, Stevie, you and me and our special girls. And one day, this’ll all be a bad memory, and you and me’ll be sittin’ in rockin’ chairs, tradin’ war stories and shit.”

            “That sounds… really nice, Buck.” Steve sighed. “Really nice.”

            “I know, so send Drina the fuckin’ chocolates.”

            “Nah, you can keep ‘em for Lydia. I have a letter to send to Drina, and I think that’s enough.” He grabbed at Bucky’s knapsack. “We’ll keep ‘em in here. You can send the box with my letter after we get back to camp.”

            Bucky nodded, smiling as he tossed the cigarette in the snow, sticking his head out the window to watch the ember die in the freezing drifts. They road in silence the rest of the way up.

            When they arrived and faced the zipline waiting for them, Bucky turned to Steve, eyes darting around apprehensively. “Ah… Steve?”

            “Yeah?”

            “Remember that time I made ya ride the cyclone at Coney Island?”

            “What—oh, yeah, I remember. I threw up.”

            “This isn’t payback, is it?”

            “Now, why would I do that?” Steve inquired, his innocent tone ruined by the smirk on his face.

            Bucky rolled his eyes, but listened silently as they received their instructions; a long, low train whistle sounded below them, and Bucky began muttering in a variety of languages.

            “Buck… why in hell didn’t you tell me you were afraid of heights?” Steve shouted, gripping the zipline. “I wouldn’t have made you come on this one!”

            “Like I’d let ya bring everybody else but me!” he bellowed back, following in Steve’s wake and swinging his foot to see if it would connect with his friend’s ass.


	17. A La Folie B

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Swearing, angst, Lydia finally really loses her shit, the news is delivered, smut with Steve yay! This is the most recent chapter.

“Lydia-”

            “Shut up.”

            “But I just-”

            “I said, _shut the fuck up_!”

            “I’m trying to tell you, I’m sorry-”

            “I could not give any less of a fuck about _you_ ,” Lydia snarled. “You deserve absolutely fucking nothing after what you said to me, you miserable little bitch, so you need to stop talking _now._ Your apology means nothing. You don’t get to fucking blame me for what happened to both of us against our wills, and you don’t get to make me look like the bad guy when the bad guy was whatever brought us here without asking! I will say it for the millionth time, Drina—the goddamn world does not revolve around you and your inability to see past your own fucking problems! Need I remind you again, _you_ are the luckier one here! You at least have a chance of seeing him again, however miniscule, and you had absolutely no right to say what you did!”

            “I know, I just—I hoped that maybe we could save them—and you weren’t even trying-”

            “IT’S BECAUSE I KNOW HOW THINGS ARE, YOU BLITHERING IDIOT!” Lydia screamed, and Alexandrina, knowing better than to talk, hung her head. “You clearly love the idea of Steve more than you actually love Steve, because do you really think he would have changed in the way you were asking him to? That he would just give up a part of himself—an essential part of who he is and the most important reason why you love him at all—just because you said, ‘Hey, I want you to stay because I love you,’ or, ‘Hey, I’m from a world where it’s 2017 and you exist as a fictional character and I know what happens and I need to save you’? You should know better, Drina! It would have made him worse! Or he wouldn’t have believed it at all and would go anyway! And you saying, ‘I love you and want you to stay’ wouldn’t have stopped him from being called up in a normal capacity, either! His world does not revolve around you! It _can’t_!”

            “But… but he might have believed me, he’s seen a car fly, he’s seen science cure him-”

            “This is a time where _asthma_ is considered a _mental_ _condition_ , Alexandrina! _Fucking electroshock therapy_ is actually considered to be a cure for it! This is not a time or a world where new ideas go down easy! Howard made a Captain America, but don’t you remember where he ended up? And that was in 2017! People don’t take easily to things they don’t understand. And trying to make Steve stay has only separated you further! He loves you, Alexandrina, but he understands that the world won’t let him.”

            “But he’s _my_ world!” Alexandrina shouted. “Why can’t he see that? Why can’t he understand that?”

            “Oh my fucking God, Drina, get your head out of your ass! Do you really think you’re the only person in the world that feels like this? Military wives, mothers, sisters—every single one of them goes through this. This is not new, and you are not the only one who feels like this! Nobody wants to see someone they love put themselves in a dangerous situation. Nobody.” Lydia sighed. “I don’t, either. You should fucking know that. But it is what it is. This is _bigger_ than just us coming here. The world is bigger. The reasons are bigger. We are two very small pawns, and you’ve given yourself the job of literally saving the entire goddamn world—or _damning_ it—because you think Steve Rogers should just drop everything. I will say it for the last time—he doesn’t know who we are or why we’re here, so he doesn’t know your motivation for trying to keep him. And even if he did, it wouldn’t stop him going—it might make it worse, because that is who he is. You are both very binary people, and you’re both set on doing the right thing. And in the end, you’re never going to see the same thing as the right thing.”

            Alexandrina went pale, on the verge of tears.

            “I don’t know why we’re here,” Lydia admitted softly. “I wish I did. I wish we had a concrete reason that we could work with. I do. I’m incredibly pissed about this whole thing. I miss Bucky with everything I have in me. I hate waking up every morning thinking that today might be the day. But… frankly, you need to stop seeing the world as you think it should be and see it as it is, because if you don’t, you’re going to have seventy years of utter hell in front of you.” Her eyes narrowed. “I have been desperately trying to come to terms with that on my own _before_ the men in suits show up here to tell me my husband fell off the fucking train, so if you would, _please_ , think about what someone else wants, for once in your life, and leave me the hell alone, that would be perfect, because, apparently, asking my friend and the one thing I have left in my own life to actually support me as I’m getting ready to find out my husband has died is _too fucking much to ask!”_

Alexandrina burst into tears, and at Lydia’s glare, left. Lydia sank into a chair and gnawed convulsively at her lip before getting up and going to read Bucky’s last letter again. It was disappointingly brief, dated February first, and ended only with his normal, _Remember that I love you._

“Lydia? Drina’s crying again…”

            “Good fucking riddance.”

            “Well, she came to me, so it’s bad.” Howard offered her a small, ironic smile. “What happened?”

            “I… I yelled. I was kind of a bitch,” Lydia sighed. “I just… what if I should have put my foot down and told Bucky not to go with Steve? I have a terrible feeling about this, Howard. I think everyone did, especially on the morning he left. I feel like… he’s going to die and he didn’t have to. He could have been honorably discharged, and instead he went back, because Steve asked him to. And I know he felt like he needed to go because Steve asked him to, but…”

            “Lyd, you couldn’t have stopped him.”

            She made a face at the nickname. “I know, but I feel like I should have done more.”

            _Told him the truth, despite the risk to myself. Ignored the cost and saved him, because he deserved better from me, the woman who was supposed to love him more than her own life._

“It’s war, sweetheart,” Howard sighed. “There’s always the risk… and you know… if something happens… I’ll help you. I promise.”

            “Howard-”

            “No, not like that! I just mean… as your friend. But… Lydia-”

            “Howard-”

            “Please. Let me say it. Just this once. Because I’ve never said it to anyone before, not really, and I want it to mean something this time. Please. I love you. You are everything that I want, and I wish I hadn’t been a coward and not told you how I felt about you until it was too late. I was an idiot, and then I was an even bigger idiot when I kissed you in the car that night. I won’t ask for anything from you… I just wanted to tell you.”

            “Why?” Lydia turned on him, and her expression made him shrink. “Why? So you could make me feel guilty? To make yourself some sort of saint? Because that’s bullshit and you know it. If you’ve never said I love you and meant it before, you have some issues you need to work out, Howard, and I can’t help you with them. And you don’t deserve to have anyone until you do.”

            “I just-”

            “You just what? Wanted to make yourself available in case he does die?”

            “Lydia, no, I-”

            The doorbell rang. They both froze.

            “I’ll… I’ll get it,” Howard whispered. “Don’t worry. You stay here. It’s probably Obadiah, wanting to work something out-”

            “Shut up, Howard,” Lydia muttered, and went downstairs.

            Alexandrina was standing in front of a stricken Steve, who, once he saw Lydia, burst into tears and held out the box of chocolates.

            Lydia wasn’t conscious of falling, of breaking a vase, of screaming, but when Alexandrina tried to touch her, she shrieked horribly, and a lightbulb popped, as if protesting the sound of her suffering. Alexandrina startled violently, and instead, ironically, it was Howard who took the broken Lydia in his arms.

            “Lydia—I-”

            She looked up at the croaking sound of Steve’s voice, and her screams turned to sobs. Alexandrina moved forward before Steve could talk anymore, took the chocolates out of his hands, and led him back to her room.

            “Steve…”

            He let out a helpless little cry; Alexandrina sat him down and cradled him to her chest as he began to weep in earnest. “It’s all my fault,” he finally choked out.

            “No, you didn’t-”

            “I was the one who asked him to go. He was cleared to stay home and I asked him to go right back into danger. I was so angry about what those people did to him that I didn’t stop to think—all he wanted was a life with Lydia and I took that away-”

            “Steve, you didn’t do this to Bucky. _HYDRA_ killed Bucky. This was _not_ your fault.”

            “If I hadn’t been stupid enough to think I could destroy them singlehandedly, like some righteous idiot-”

            “And who’s to say that Bucky wouldn’t have gone after them on his own? Lydia told me that Bucky was the one who first suggested it, Steve. You never know, he may have gotten antsy after a few months of being home with Lydia and gone back to fight HYDRA by himself. He’s not as… enthusiastic as you, but he always does the right thing, too. And you both knew that the right thing to do was to go after HYDRA.” She stroked Steve’s hair and cheeks. “You’re both the kind of men that would do the right thing, even if you knew… even if you knew you would die.” She bit her lip and let the realization sink in. “Sometimes, no matter what you do… it’s not enough.”

            Steve raised his head.

            “But… but you have to learn to live with that,” she finished softly. “It’s okay to not be enough. It doesn’t make you less, and sometimes you have to be content with the fact that all you can do is try.” She took a breath, fighting her own tears now. “I mean, it’s not like you didn’t know and understand the risks. You’re not stupid. What happened to Bucky wasn’t your fault.”

            He touched her face. “…I’m sorry.”

            “For what? Being you?” Alexandrina snorted, a wry smile on her lips. “I should be the one apologizing. I have been trying to control you and change you, all while saying I’m not, since the first moment we met. And it’s been totally wrong of me.”

            “You had good intentions.”

            “You know what they say about the road to Hell.”

            He kissed her softly. “So… are we still engaged?”

            “Of course we are,” she whispered, and returned his kiss. He deepened it, needy and desperate, and Alexandrina cupped his face in her hands and slowed him down, trying to soothe him. Steve’s arms snaked around her and he brought her to him, his intent suddenly clear in his eyes.

            “Steve… are you sure?”

            “Of course I am,” he breathed, his fingers threading in her hair. “You’re my girl. I mean, if you… if you’ll still have me.”

            “You know I will.” She started kissing him all over. “I’m so sorry, Steve… I’ve been such an idiot-”

            “Hush,” he commanded gently, stilling her and kissing her again. She backed up a little and slid her hands up under his shirt, easing it off. His muscles flexed under her fingers, and her breath hitched; Alexandrina traced his nipple, marveling at him like she hadn’t been able to after he had received the serum. A low rumble sounded briefly in his chest; he cupped her cheek, then slid his hand down to her jaw, neck, shoulder, her side… and finally, under her blouse.

            She eyed him, not directing him or pushing him, and together, they slipped her blouse off. He held her breasts in his hands for a moment, fingers stroking her through her brassiere, and then leaned down to place a wandering kiss just above her cleavage. Alexandrina sighed contentedly, and with that, he reached around to free her breasts. There was a little floundering, and as hard as she tried to, Alexandrina couldn’t hold back her giggling.

            “I’m sorry…”

            “No, don’t be sorry!” she contradicted with a grin. “I think you’re adorable. Next time, honey, just ask me to turn around.”

            A voice in her head that sounded very much like Lydia’s told her dryly that there might not be a next time, and she resigned herself to the fact that she deserved that before Steve interrupted her ominous reverie by weighing her breasts curiously in his hands. She groaned, and he once again dipped his head and placed a kiss on the top of one breast before raising his eyebrow, questioning.

            “Yes.”

            He smiled and began putting his kisses lower; when he got to her nipple, he paused a moment before closing his lips around it and flicking his tongue playfully across the sensitive skin.

            “Oh, Steve, do that again!”

            He obliged, licking, sucking, and playing with her nipple until it was hard and red, and then switched to the other, and chuckled, amused, as her fingers tightened in his hair and brought him closer. When he had finished, she smiled and pushed him purposefully backward. “My turn.”

            Steve watched her, his eyes widening as she slid her hands to his pants and popped the buttons, one by one, smiling at him the whole time. As she pulled his pants and underwear down, his erection was revealed, and Alexandrina blinked.

            “What? What’s wrong?”

            “Nothing!” she blurted. “It’s just… you’re huge. I wasn’t quite expecting—well, I was, with the serum, you know—but I wasn’t-”

            “Drina, if you don’t want to-”

            “Oh my God, Steve, _shut_ _up_.” She smirked, flicking her tongue across his tip, giving him one long, deliberate lick before opening her mouth and beginning to take him in. His mouth popped open in surprise and desire, and his eyes fluttered closed. Taking it easy at first, and then speeding up, she sucked him, teasing him with her tongue and using her hand for what she couldn’t take.

            “Drina— _Drina_ -”

            She hummed, and then pulled back. Steve paused in something like shock, and then slammed an agitated fist into the wall; she laughed outright. When he reached down to stroke himself and finish, she stopped him, then put her hand back on him and massaged him, thoughtfully, not giving him nearly enough this time. “It’s called edging, sweetheart. Trust me, I know it’s annoying, but it’s totally worth it.”

            Steve growled. Alexandrina snorted and started to put her mouth back on him, but he caught her by the jaw. “Wait, I might—and I don’t want to choke you-”

            “For shit’s sake, be quiet.” She fitted her mouth back around him and let him fuck her there with increasing intensity, until he finally came with a low moan of her name.

            “God,” he muttered after a minute, and then sat up. Before she knew quite what had happened, she heard the sound of ripping fabric and he was down between her legs, swiping a finger up her clothed opening, testing her. She was soaked.

            “Jesus!” they both blurted at the same time. Alexandrina giggled. Steve looked at her for an infinitesimal second, and then abruptly, yanked her panties down and dove in.

            “Steve—Steve!” Alexandrina burst into laughter. “That tickles—stop! You’re trying to do too many things at once. Calm down. Try writing the letter M. Or Z.”

            He blinked, and then followed her instructions, smiling with pride and satisfaction against her when she finally groaned. From there, he began to embellish his letters, getting more and more complicated until he had Alexandrina mewling under his mouth. Just before she came, however, she suddenly pushed him away from her and flipped them both over.

            “Wait—did I—do something wrong?”

            “No!” she answered, stroking him purposefully. Once he was hard enough, she brought herself down on him, flexing her muscles. “I just got tired of waiting.”

            “Control freak,” he teased, grinning, and then his eyes rolled back. “Drina… oh, _Drina_ …”

            “Steve—fuck!” She fought to keep her own eyes from rolling back, and began to move. He quickly picked up the pace.

            “ _Steve_!”

            “Come on, baby girl-”

            Her muscles tightened and flexed, uncontrollably now as she came hard around him. His hands went back to her breasts and he squeezed, thrusting still, finally losing his rhythm when he came with a sound somewhere between a groan and a cry.

            _“Yes! Steve!”_

            His hips stuttered as he came down, and he took a breath, smiling up at her when he had regained himself. “Was… was it okay, Drina?”

            “Oh, Steve…” she sighed, and kissed his forehead. “It was perfect. You were perfect.”


	18. A LA FOLIE C

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Letters (sad ones), kidnapping, swearing, bondage (strapped to a gurney kind), needles, a bit of hand-to-hand combat. Don’t say I didn’t warn you, because here comes the angst!

He left two days later, having gotten special permission from Peggy to stay at Howard’s until he could make sure that Lydia was all right. This time, Alexandrina didn’t cry, or beg, cajole, or scream, and neither of them said anything to the other. Their hands instead stayed tightly linked on the way to the train station.

            Once there, Howard and Lydia said their goodbyes—Lydia gave Steve the shit-eating grin and elbow to the ribs that Bucky wasn’t there to give—and then Steve turned to Alexandrina.

            “I’ll be back real soon,” he promised. She nodded numbly. “We’ll move into that house Howard got us and get married, and have lots of babies, and then we’ll get old with our family and friends around us.”

            “I’d love that. …I love you,” she whispered, and kissed him. “I love you. I love you.”

            “I love you, too. I love you so much.” He peeled himself reluctantly away from her, heading toward the train. “I’ll be home in no time.”

            “I know,” she called, and finally burst into tears.

            Promptly, he came running back. “Aw, Drina, please don’t cry!”

            “You’re going to miss your train, silly!” She kissed his cheeks, his jaw, his hands. “You have to go!”

            “I love you.”

            “I love you too.”

            He hopped on the train, then leaned out a window, waving frantically as it pulled away. “I’ll miss you! I love you! I’ll be home soon!”

            “Your sense of timing is very different than mine,” she muttered, and lost her composure utterly.

 

That afternoon, Lydia came to a decision, and left without saying goodbye to either Howard or Alexandrina, heading to the library. She tried desperately to ignore the sight of Alexandrina’s wrecked face and the sound of her tears, but they were both embedded in her brain. On impulse, she’d worn three coats, three pairs of socks, her sturdiest pair of shoes, and a fuzzy scarf, even though it wasn’t that cold. She was sure that, when she came home, she’d get some strange looks, but as a precaution, she’d left Howard, Peggy, Alexandrina, and—some shred of hope still clung to her—Steve each a note.

            When she got to the library, she did, in fact, get strange looks from the ladies working there, and they kept her talking for twenty minutes, wanting updates on how her life was going. Without revealing much, she chatted, not too pleasantly, with them, and got to work.

            She combed through the library for three full hours, looking for any and all books, fiction or non-fiction, about time travel, realm jumping, supernatural powers, and otherworldly forces. Used to her odd choices of reading material by now, no one commented while checking her books out. Soon, Lydia was carrying two full bags; she slung the straps of one on her left shoulder and carried the other in her right hand.

            “Do you need some help?”

            Lydia’s head whipped to her left so fast, she nearly cricked her neck. A woman, wearing a forest green hat and matching outfit was reaching out, offering to take the bag on her shoulder. Lydia clutched it tighter and walked as fast as she was able. “Oh… no thanks, I’m almost home anyway. Thank you, though.”

            “You must read really quickly, to have that many books in one trip.”

            Lydia nodded.

            “That’s a pretty ring you’re wearing; is that an emerald?”

            Again, Lydia nodded.

            “Is your husband up at the front?”

            “He’s dead,” Lydia snapped, much harsher than she meant to.

            The woman’s face saddened. “Oh… oh, I’m so sorry-”

            One of the books became slightly dislodged as a result of Lydia snorting so hard that she stumbled—the woman reached out, as if to grab it, but changed direction at the last second, but Lydia reacted just as quickly. She dropped the bag in her right hand, letting the other bag slide off her shoulder, plunged her hand inside her skirt, and drew out the knife, continuing in one smooth motion as she brought it forward, changing her aim at the last millisecond—it skittered against the woman’s arm as she went down, not up—it grazed the woman’s stomach—

            “They said you would know,” she muttered, and ripped the knife out of Lydia’s hand, breaking her wrist cruelly as she did so. Lydia’s mouth opened—hot, agonizing pain rolled through her—suddenly, she was being dragged—

            “Come on now, sweetie, don’t fight—after all, you might get to see your precious husband again… although he might not be your husband-”

            Lydia sank her teeth into the woman’s arm and was rewarded by a vicious string of curses in German and Russian, followed by English: “Goddammit, you little bitch-”

            “Why don’t you go fuck your-”

            The woman bashed her head into the wall, and then pressed a rag to Lydia’s nose and mouth while she was still disoriented. Everything around her began to fade, and Lydia sobbed, trying to twist away—

            “Don’t you dare.” She pressed the rag down harder and tugged at Lydia’s finger, trying to get her ring off.

            The last thing Lydia heard before everything went black was a bewildered, frustrated curse.

           

An hour later, the doorbell rang again. Howard, who was pretending to read a newspaper and trying extremely hard not to think about how horribly downhill everything had gone, while visibly attempting to keep from worrying about Lydia (who would yell at him for doing it anyway), got up and answered it. To his surprise (and more worry), it wasn’t Lydia, who, last time she had come back from the library, had rang the doorbell with her face. It was, however, a librarian, holding two full bags of books—not as much as Lydia was carrying the last time, but still, quite a lot.

            “Is Miss Lydia here?” she inquired. “We found these down the street a little ways from the library and we were wondering if she was perhaps waiting for you to pick her up.”

            “I wasn’t supposed to—she’s not home yet…” Howard stammered. “We thought she was still-”

            He was interrupted by a thump behind them, and both he and the librarian jumped.

            Alexandrina had fainted.

 

“Alexandrina, would you stop? I need to call the police!”

            “Howard, they’re not going to help—would you slow the fuck down and listen to me? Goddammit, STOP IT!”

            Howard froze.

            “She left me a letter. I’m betting you have one, too.”

            “I don’t care if she did this on purpose or not, I’m filing a missing person’s report.”

            “Howard, stop it. She didn’t go off to start a new life… she’s in trouble.”

            “All the more reason to file a missing person’s report, then!”

            “Howard, we’re not going to find her!”

            “If she’s in some sort of trouble, if someone has her-”

            “Howard, she left on purpose, she thought this might happen, she left me a letter and I read it, and she left you one, too, now would you shut the fuck up, take five minutes, and _read what she fucking wrote?”_

“…Where’s this letter?”

            “On your dresser.”

            “Fine, I’ll read it, but then I’m filing-”

            “After you read it, you call Peggy. We need SHIELD for this.” Alexandrina’s letter, clutched in her fist, was crumpled now.

            “Allie? What do you know?”

            “Nothing.”

            He rounded on her. “Don’t play games with me! What do you know?”

            “Read her letter, Howard. And then call Peggy.”

            He growled at her and ran upstairs. Sure enough, there was an envelope waiting, hiding slightly behind the cologne that he never used on his dresser, and Howard felt his stomach sink; she clearly hadn’t wanted him to find it until it was too late. He ripped it open so forcefully that he nearly tore the paper inside.

            _Dear Howard,_

_I’ve gone to do some research at the library, and I think, directly or indirectly, that it might lead me to Bucky. I’d really like to find his body, so I can pay my respects to him and tell him I love him one more time. Please don’t worry about me; you just keep going after HYDRA. Put Peggy in charge, she’s the best, and she’s the only one that has a chance of stopping them… of making things better. Don’t—I repeat, do not trust anyone besides her, Drina, and Steve._

_Thank you for the beautiful Christmas gifts you gave Bucky and me. That ring was absolutely magnificent and I’ve never received a better gift from anyone._

_I do love you, Howard. Just not the way you want me to. I think you’re a genius, but do try to remember that your brain isn’t the most important part of you. You are also unfailingly caring, protective, loyal, and you always want the best for those you love. Those are the traits that will help you when you decide to have a family—not your smarts or the company._

_I promise you, one day, you will find someone whose world revolves around you. Do your best to make sure your world also revolves around them._

_I hope to see you again soon,_

_Lydia_

            Alexandrina heard Howard break into weeping upstairs, and turned to her letter again. It was horribly brief, and she felt an ugly pang in her stomach, remembering how they’d parted.

           

_Drina,_

_I’m going to the library to do some research on what may have happened to us. If I can find something, anything, maybe that will lead to a way to save Steve and Bucky. You’re right. Well, I mean, you were a fucking bitch, but I’ve been too cautious and it cost me my husband. It shouldn’t have to cost you your fiancé, too._

_That said, I have a feeling that HYDRA is coming after me. They know I exist, and they might want to use me as leverage against Bucky. Also, if they ever find out where I’m from, then we both know they’ll be after me, because they’ll want that power._

_I wrote Howard a letter, too, and Steve, just in case you get lucky and he comes back from that mission. You can read it, but if he doesn’t come back, burn it, and your letter. Don’t tell Howard anything—he can’t take it, and he’ll do something stupid._

_I’m glad you were the one who came with me._

_Lydia_

            So, after sobbing helplessly for a good half hour, Alexandrina read Steve’s letter.

           

            _Dear Steve,_

_If you’re reading this, I am long gone, and you’re back with Drina and Howard. Please bear with me; this is a long letter with a lot of information, and if you need any clarification of what I have to say, ask Drina the questions. DO NOT tell Howard if you can help it._

_If you are reading this letter, Steve, it’s a miracle. You were supposed to crash in the ice and freeze when you flew that plane over the mountains. Notice I did not say, ‘You were supposed to die,’ but that you were supposed to crash. You would have been preserved, thanks to the cold and your constantly regenerating cells._

_Drina just confirmed it, didn’t she? No, we’re not from some organization like SHIELD or HYDRA, and we’re not some previously undiscovered species of alien. We don’t know what we are, and really, if we’re anything at all. In our own heads, we’re just two ordinary women who ended up in an extraordinary place._

_Firstly, we do come from another world—one where you, Bucky, Howard, Peggy, HYDRA, SHIELD—everything and everyone you know—only exist in the pages of books—comic books, to be specific. There are other worlds out there, and we came from one. No, we have no idea how, and we don’t know how to get home. No one can time travel or jump realms where we’re from, so, to put it simply, we quite lost our shit when we appeared here. We showed up on the night of the Expo; the Alexandrina you rescued from those idiots in the alleyway is the one I knew back home. You’ve never known another one different from the one you know now._

_Because of those books, and the films that have been made out of them, Drina and I knew pretty much everything about you, as well as what was going to happen to you all. It’s why she was so… adamant… about you not putting yourself in any danger. And, before I go any further, I tried too, I just… I know how you are and I know that it wasn’t right to try and change you so drastically. I tried the softer way of helping, and I guess it didn’t work. It cost me everything, and I deserve that, and I’m fully aware of it. Also, I know you’re wondering: Drina loves you because you’re you, and not because she already knew who you were and what was in store. In fact, she only loves you more deeply because of that, because everything she already loved about you is the truth._

_I’ll give you a minute. Hand the letter to Drina. I wouldn’t talk to her until you’re done reading it, though. When you’re ready, take it back._

_Do you remember how I said you were supposed to survive the plane crash and get frozen? Well… Bucky survived that fall, too. He’s not a supersoldier like you—yet—but HYDRA put things in his system that helped him survive that fall. I’m sure you noticed. He did lose his left arm, but he survived._

_The Russians—the KGB and an infant form of HYDRA in that country—picked him up, Steve. That’s why you never found him. Probably at this very moment, they’re torturing him and experimenting on him. They are going to turn him into the ultimate weapon, Steve. They’ll eventually call him the Asset, the Fist of HYDRA, but his first name, with the KGB, will be the Winter Soldier. Siberian winters and all that crap. Alexandrina is nodding, right? Yes, it’s true. I know your Bucky—our Bucky—would never do that, but he has amnesia from the fall. They also have the technology to brainwash him. They’ll perform surgeries on him—a lobotomy was heavily hinted at in the films—electrocute him, and torture him until he no longer remembers his own name, much less you or me. They’ll put a bastardized version of the serum in him and make him a supersoldier, and he’ll work for the KGB and HYDRA because he will have no choice._

_So now that you’re home, Steve, you can try and stop this. Get him home. Don’t worry about me until you have him—they’re not going to be able to handle two ultimate weapons. If they get me, they’ll only experiment on me until they find out how I got here, and when they do, they’ll kill me. Please, when you get him, though, if he’s having trouble remembering, just make sure he knows that there’s someone out there who loves him deeply—besides you, of course._

_Oh—and be careful of his arm. HYDRA will build him a new one; I’m not sure when he’ll get it, but it’ll be metal, and really, really deadly. We haven’t seen the kind of technology he’ll be carrying around in my world, in the year 2017, if that tells you something. The arm had to be faked in the movies._

_I’ve told Drina to get Peggy and SHIELD on this, too, so please, please, spend some time with Drina before you go. We’re in uncharted territory now, and I don’t know what’s going to happen, and neither does Drina, so she’ll still be… hyperactive… about letting you go. Maybe more so._

_I’m glad you came home,_

_Lydia_

Lydia awoke in a small, dimly lit, and unfortunately freezing room. Her coats had been stripped off, as had her shoes, and she was strapped down, flat on her back, to a gurney. Her broken wrist had been braced, and to her surprise, her ring was still on her finger.

            “It will not come off,” said a male voice, laced with a heavy German accent. Lydia jumped. “We have tried everything short of cutting your finger off. We cannot remove it.”

            Red Skull stepped out of the corner, his eyes fastened on her, and Lydia let out a whimper that she hated for its weakness as soon as it left her mouth. Red Skull smirked. “I promised it to the agent who picked you up outside the library. Needless to say, she is quite put out at not receiving what is rightfully hers, _Fraulein_.”

            The agent who had captured her was standing in the corner, and rolled her eyes.

            “Fuck you,” Lydia spat, her voice a croak. “Where’s my husband?”

            “He is with the doctors. But that is not important.” He waved his hand dismissively, and at that, Lydia thought she might scream. “You are what is important now—you, and what you can do.” He grinned, holding up a syringe and a leather wrist cuff. “This is a serum specifically designed to bring out any… latent abilities you may have; I’m sure you’ve heard of it. It’s supposed to work after extreme stress, yes? If I’m not mistaken, it was what turned that loudmouth character that Ryan Reynolds played into… what was the name? _Deadpool_.” He watched Lydia digest this, an ever-growing smile on his face as he injected her with the needle.

            Lydia jerked and began to spasm as the serum snaked through her system. “ _You_ did this to me?”

            “To both of you,” Red Skull answered, infuriatingly tranquil. “Your friend has yet to fulfill her purpose. But you… _you_ are going to do great things for us, Fraulein.” A satisfied expressed twisted his features as he watched her convulse. “We brought you here to turn the tide for us.”

            “You—you took me from my family—my home—you brought me to this place-” Every word was a struggle; the very fiber of her being was disintegrating.

            “Oh, yes.”

            “You watched me fall in love with him-”

            Red Skull barked out a laugh. “No one said you had to fall in love with him!”

            “But—you—we showed up right before the Stark Expo—we were practically right in their way-”

            “We had no control over what time and place you would appear in,” Red Skull interrupted, and something remarkably like pity appeared on his face. “We had a specific time frame for you to appear in—between your birth here, and this very moment. No one could say when you would appear after the experiment was completed. Nothing that happened up to this moment was up to us. We brought the two of you here in order to complete our mission, but it seems that saving the man called _Bucky Barnes_ was a mission you gave yourself… and you failed.”


	19. A LA FOLIE D

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: Swearing, the second bit of news is delivered, character “death”, medical torture, implied lobotomy, electrocution, light bondage (strapped to a gurney kind), Once Upon A Time hearts reference, actual minor character death, manipulation, Howard and Lydia fight, retching, pregnancy.

Lydia wasn’t aware of her screaming, or that the serum Red Skull had injected in her had stopped moving throughout her body. She only saw Bucky smiling tenderly at her, reaching out to tuck her hair back-Howard, disappointed and heartbroken after the kiss in the car—Steve, proposing to Alexandrina on Christmas Day, so hopeful, with his life in front of him—Peggy, grinning proudly as Lydia outshot her in a battle simulation and left the rest of the men staring in something like horrified adoration—her old life, her parents, smiling at her, her friends calling her, texting her with fun messages—Bucky— _Bucky_ —

            _Remember that I love you._

“NO!”

            Lydia roared and the restraints broke; she was on her feet, snarling and screaming incoherently. She had no conscious memory of moving; the only thought in her head was, _Make him pay, make him pay, kill him now—_

Smoothly, Red Skull moved the agent who had been standing in the corner—the one who had taken her—in front of him, and Lydia’s hand went wrist-deep into her chest instead of his. She ripped out a brightly glowing, still beating heart, the healthy, pure pink already darkening toward red, black swirling inside it.

            “Good girl!” Red Skull mockingly praised her as the agent lost her footing and went to her knees. “We were hoping you would have that magic. It’s from your favorite… TV show, yes? The one with the queen… that helped you acknowledge the darkness inside of yourself.”

            The agent was getting to her feet. On impulse, Lydia squeezed her heart.

            “That’s right… crush it,” Red Skull murmured encouragingly. “Kill her, _Frau_ Barnes. She’s a threat. She’s a KGB agent.”

            “You’re not going to turn me into a monster,” Lydia spat, her hands trembling.

            “That’s what we do,” he answered with a sickening smile. “Besides, if you do not kill her, she may end up fucking your Sergeant.”

            Lydia crushed the heart to dust. The agent dropped.

            “Are you ready to bring her in?” a voice asked from just outside.

            It was Arnim Zola. Lydia’s stomach curdled.

            “She has indeed demonstrated her power, _Herr_ Zola. You may come in and… educate her… on the situation.”

            Zola opened the door and walked in, and Lydia automatically shrank away from him in disgust. He was exactly like the man who played him in the movies, but amazingly, maybe two or three inches shorter, and if it was even possible, much more disturbing. He saw Lydia’s expression, and smiled. “I tend to have that effect on people.”

            Red Skull rolled his eyes.

            “Where’s my husband? What are you doing to him?”

            “I’m about to take you to him,” Zola said soothingly, and put his hand on top of hers. Lydia flinched. “You should be prepared, however. The sight may be a little… gruesome.”

            “Would you stop with the dramatics and get on with it?” Red Skull barked. Zola startled and threw a groveling look in his direction, then turned back to Lydia. “We’re taking you to help with part of his… improvement. His body is undergoing several necessary procedures at the moment and we need you to use your newfound magic to keep him healthy.” He coughed, and the sound was quite annoying. “If you attempt to stop or sabotage us in any way, or try to make him remember you-” Here, he eyed Lydia’s ring with displeasure—“you will be the one to kill him, and trust me, he will be begging you for it.” He smiled pleasantly then and placed Bucky’s wedding ring in the center of Lydia’s palm, making sure to stroke her skin with a finger as he did so.

            Lydia shuddered. “How did you-”

            “It was in his pocket. Now come. “You have the cuffs, _Herr_ Schmidt?”

            “I do. Hurry up!”

            Lydia slipped Bucky’s ring onto her finger, next to her own, and used her magic to make it fit. Red Skull and Zola both hauled her off the gurney and shoved a white jacket, gloves, and a surgery mask and cap on her, crowding her as they herded her down a staircase, through a hallway, and up to a set of double doors. Behind them, Lydia could hear the noises of other doctors and various types of machinery, as well as what sounded like a tape playing on a loop in the background. Lydia recognized Hitler’s voice; they were playing _propaganda_ in there.

            Zola opened the double doors and Red Skull stepped back, abandoning them with a last menacing look in Lydia’s direction.

            She didn’t see it, because Bucky was lying on a metal table, tied down and naked, spread out like a meal. Where his left arm had been was a clean and gaping hole, extending down over most of his armpit and just barely reaching the side of his chest. Lydia could see blood and bits of bone and muscle on the floor beneath. The doctors were muttering to themselves, grouped around a table off to the side, on which the metal arm was sitting. Someone took a piece of machinery to it, and the plates opened, shifting.

            His arm, though, wasn’t the worst of it. Bucky had a strap stretched tightly across his neck, and one across his nose, effectively holding his head down, and for good reason; the entirety of the front and top of his head was laying open. His skull had all but been carved out, and what bone was left gleaned in the harsh florescent light. His eyes had been pried open, stitches standing out along the tops and bottoms. He was awake, aware; Lydia saw his mouth tremble as he responded to a command in shaky German, then one in Russian.

            Her legs crumpled underneath her; Zola snatched at her, but couldn’t prop her up. One of the doctors working on the metal arm saw his distress and raced over, yanking Lydia up and slapping her forcefully across the face. “Stay awake, bitch,” he demanded in German. Lydia didn’t understand, but she didn’t need to be told twice—she locked her knees under her and took a deep breath, forcing herself to look at Bucky.

            Zola forced her closer. “His heart has stopped three times in the last hour,” he informed her, in English, his jaw clenching in irritation. “We’ve had to wake him up and start over every time. So you are here to keep him calm. Keep him in stable condition. If he shows signs of damage, heal them. Nothing else. Am I clear?”

            Too terrified to do anything else, Lydia just nodded.

            “Do not speak to him in English. Do not try and make him remember you. You are aware of the consequences.” He shoved Lydia forward, and the doctors moved to make room.

            Bucky’s eyes darted to hers, but he showed no signs of recognition. Silently, she sent a thread of calming magic through him.

            “Tell him that we are helping him. We are trying to make him better.”

            “They’re… they’re trying to help you,” Lydia repeated, the German coming to her as though she’d been speaking it all her life. “They’ll… they’ll make you better. It’s going to be all right.”

            A doctor picked up an instrument with a sharp edge and twisted it in the front of Bucky’s brain. He whimpered; another doctor brought down two paddles and put them directly on either side of his head, sending an electric current right through him. He tensed, his body snapping in the restraints, but his head didn’t move. Once the doctor with the paddles was finished, he moved them and picked up a different instrument.

            Bucky’s eyes swung back to Lydia’s, terrified all over again. With prompting from Zola, she repeated what she’d said.

            She kept this up for hours, sending healing magic through his body while letting them torture his brain, trying to soothe the broken man who had once been her husband, repeating endlessly that these people were helping him and trying to make him better. Finally, though, they began sewing him up, replacing his skull and stitching up the wounds in his face. With the go-ahead from Zola, Lydia used her magic to take him from the ruined specimen on the table back to the man who at least looked like her husband, and then gently put him to sleep.

            As Zola dragged her away, she heard someone turn the stupid propaganda video back up.

            Zola took her back to the room she had woken up in, but before she could do anything, he slapped the leather cuff that Red Skull had been holding earlier on her wrist.

            “What-”

            “They are to stop your magic,” he explained, giving her another one of his eerie smiles. “We can’t have you using it on anyone else now, can we?”

            He grabbed her left ring finger and tugged; Lydia shrieked, but to their surprise, the rings stayed where they were.

            “What the—stupid cunt-”

            He tugged harder, but to no avail. Lydia burst into bitter laughter; Zola backhanded her across the face. She was so startled by it that she actually fell to the floor, but when she raised a hand to send magic at him, nothing happened.

            “You worthless little bitch!” he shouted, his face crazed with anger and frustration, and for the first time, Lydia was truly afraid of him. He called in a few agents and gave her a disdainful look. “Put her on ice until I decide whether or not she is a failure.”

            “No—no, wait—you can’t just—no—Bucky—BUCKY-”

            They dragged her, still screaming hysterically, to a cryo chamber, and forced her into it.

            The last image Lydia saw before her head lolled back and she lost consciousness was Bucky, just how she remembered him, looking dashing in his old uniform and giving her a small, knowing smile.

 

**March 30, 1944**

 

“Allie! Honey… Peggy’s here.”

            “I don’t want to see her yet.”

            “Allie-”

            “ _Fuck it all,_ Howard, can’t you just give me five more minutes?” Alexandrina screamed, her voice cracking on the last word. Hearing her distress, Peggy appeared in the doorway, her own face wet with fresh tears.

            “Go away, Carter!”

            “Drina,” Peggy whispered hoarsely, “Drina, I’m so sorry-”

            “Don’t!”

            Howard slid down the wall.

            “Drina, he said some things… I have the tape here-”

            “I know what he said, I don’t want to hear them!”

            “What do you mean?” She let out an explosive sigh. “He talked about you.”

            Alexandrina lifted her head. “What?”

            “He mentioned you,” she explained, her voice quiet. “Please… let me play the tape for you.”

            A small, weak sound escaped from Howard, but Alexandrina ignored it, suddenly focused on Peggy. Both of them watched her in miserable silence as she loaded the tape and then played it.

            _“Steve—Captain Rogers—Steve!”_

            Alexandrina disassociated herself, recognizing most of the dialogue from the movie and trying—trying so hard not to—

            _“Steve—we have time-”_

_“Peggy, stop.”_

_Static._

_“Peggy?”_

_“Yes, Captain Rogers?”_

_“Tell Drina I love her. And that I’m sorry I couldn’t keep my promise.”_

_“Steve-”_

            Silence.

           

Two weeks after Peggy delivered the news of Steve’s death, and exactly six weeks after he’d left, Alexandrina violently retched in the middle of her breakfast. Howard, sympathetically, had very nearly followed suit, but had managed to restrain himself and had packed her, rather ruthlessly, into the car to go to the hospital.

            “Howard, come on, it’s just the flu!”

            “When was your last monthly?”

            “Oh, so now you’re okay talking about periods? The man I was engaged to just died! Do you really think I’m worried about anything else right now?”

            “That’s what I thought.”

            “For being pretty damn sure that I’m pregnant right now, you’re driving like a completely reckless idiot.”

            “Shut up.”

            They did manage to make it to the doctor’s office in one piece, however. While they were waiting to be seen, Alexandrina kept checking herself for a developing fever.

            “Miss Stark?”

            “Yes?” She and Howard got to their feet.

            “The doctor will see you now. Only Miss Stark, please.”

            “No, I want to be with her. She has no one else.”

            Alexandrina flinched, but they followed the nurse back in silence.

            “Allie, if-”

            “Shut _up_ , Howard.”

            He closed his mouth. Alexandrina was both delighted and relieved, wondering what had caused him to actually listen to her this time, but it only lasted until the doctor walked in and said, with no preamble, “So, throwing up in the morning, hmm? Sounds like a pregnancy. When was your last menstrual flow?”

            “ _Excuse_ _you_ , it is the flu,” Alexandrina muttered in a voice that would have stopped anyone else.

            “Who’s the father?”

            “I am NOT PREGNANT!”

            “Allie-”

            “SHUT THE FUCK UP, HOWARD!”

            The doctor’s mouth dropped.

            “I WILL NOT!” Howard bellowed. Alexandrina froze in pure astonishment. “I am SO SICK of being constantly run over by you!”

            “Howard, I-”

            _“Stop. Talking,”_ he hissed, and Alexandrina was so horrified that she did. “Listen to someone else besides yourself for five goddamn minutes! Just because you want something to go one way doesn’t mean it’s going to, so stop that right now!”

            Alexandrina felt as if she’d been punched. “I _know_ -”

            “But you don’t care!” Howard interrupted, and every word was like a knife in his sister’s heart.

            “I have lost everything I ever cared about,” she shot back, keeping her voice calm, and realizing, to her horror, that it was shaking. “Steve is gone, Bucky is gone, Lydia is gone-”

            “You still have me,” Howard spat. “I know you hate me, and that I am everything you despise in humanity, that it didn’t cross your mind that _I_ am grieving, too, and that you don’t want me to be the only one left, and you know what? You can have the mansion, I’ll get some builders to add on a nursery and make sure everything is safe for the baby, and then I’ll just _leave_ , because no matter what I do, I will never be good enough for you! I’ll never be the brother I always wanted to be, because _you… won’t…_ _let… me_.” He sunk in a chair, ignoring the white-faced doctor, and the telling silence outside of the exam room. “Steve is dead, Allie. I know you’re lost, and I know you miss him, more than I can fathom, but you have to face the facts. You are pregnant, and this baby needs you.”

            “I’ll just be… running some tests…” the doctor finally whimpered.

            “Thank you,” Howard answered, decisive, and while the nurses were taking blood, he refocused on Alexandrina. “We need to have Steve’s funeral before we start preparing for the baby.”

            “No.”

            “Allie, it’s been a month and a half. People need to mourn Captain America, and-”

            “That’s exactly why I don’t want to have a funeral!” she stopped him. “It’ll be this big public… _thing_ , and everybody will be crying over him, and not as _him_ , as a symbol, and they have no idea—nobody has any idea what it’s really like-”

            “I do,” Howard whispered. “No one will be trying to take anything away from you… or me, when they mourn Captain America. He was a public figure who chose to be that symbol and who gave a part of himself to the country. That’s just how it is. People are starting to talk, Allie, and I know you don’t care about that, either, but you have to acknowledge his death. We both do-” Howard bit his lip. “And he deserves the honor of a dignified, military funeral.”

            “Howard-”

            “Don’t say it-”

            “Maybe he’s alive. We never found a body-”

            _That’s because it’s either disintegrated or been buried under hundreds of feet of ice_ , Howard finished, but he didn’t voice the thought aloud. “There’s… no way,” he answered instead, lamely.

            “You don’t _know_ that-”

            “Allie, he crashed a damn airplane a _month and a half_ ago-”

            “Please don’t make me go through that, Howard,” Alexandrina begged, hating herself for how weak she sounded.

            “I’m not ‘making’ you do anything,” he sighed. “But it’s been long enough. And you have a future now. A future that deserves its best chance. And you can’t give that baby the life he or she deserves if you’re still living in the past.”

 

“We’ve received word. The pregnancy has been confirmed.”

            “Then we make a move after the funeral.”

            “The funeral is happening? Finally?”

            “Stark announced it in the papers this morning. With that many people in the vicinity, and all of them focused on Rogers, there’s no way we can get that close during the ceremony. So we’ll pick her up afterward.”

            “You know they might be expecting us…”

            “Not necessarily. Stark might have his suspicions, but the majority of SHIELD always thought we were after Rogers. Not his child.”

            “Are we sending our soldier after her?”

            “He is nowhere near ready. We move in two weeks.”


	20. A LA FOLIE E

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: Swearing, a funeral, description of a miscarriage. It’s one line, but there is a mention of blood. Dealing with the aftermath of a miscarriage. Alexandrina picks a huge fight. Cryofreeze, rape (it’s a couple of paragraphs and that’s it), electrocution, memory wipe, hand-to-hand combat, character death. This is not a pretty chapter. You all are gonna kill me for the last line, so those of you that have my number and need to scream at me (in Spanish or English), you know what to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the most recent chapter. The next one will be up on Wednesday.

Howard was in a tuxedo. Alexandrina was in the most uncomfortable black dress she had ever worn. This had ended up being a triple funeral for Steve, Bucky, and Lydia, seeing as Howard had officially declared them all dead. Alexandrina had fought him viciously because of it, but, sick of her denial, he had gone without her one morning and done it on his own while she was suffering from morning sickness.

            The Howling Commandos, all of whom had been given a special leave, were standing like sentinels on both sides of the doors, dressed in their uniforms, greeting everyone who walked in. One surreptitiously wiped a tear from his eye as he let the last guest in.

            Alexandrina held back the nauseous feeling in her stomach, trying not to look at the pictures of Steve, Bucky, and Lydia that were sitting on a table surrounded by flowers and Steve’s old prop shield. One of those pictures was of him, looking proud and very much like Captain America, in full uniform. Another was of him standing with Alexandrina, both of them laughing uproariously—he because she had just told a joke, she because he had his head thrown back and his hand across his chest. Next to that was a picture of Bucky that Alexandrina knew would eventually go into the Smithsonian exhibit, and another one of Lydia and Bucky on their wedding day, paying absolutely no attention to the camera. The last one was a replica of the picture of Lydia that Bucky had kept in the grip of his gun.

            The service began, but Alexandrina paid no attention, instead looking at all the people gathered there, hating all but a few of them. They were here for the spectacle; they hadn’t known Steve Rogers, and they hadn’t cared to—

            Howard nudged her, startling her, and gave her a questioning glance, but when she shook her head, he got up and made his way to the podium. “…When my sister started going steady with Steve Rogers, the skinny, sick kid who was desperate to join the army, I wondered if she’d finally gone off the rails,” he began. That earned a few soft laughs. “My sister has always… marched to the beat of her own drum, and I really thought that Steve Rogers was the final cymbal crash. I hate to say it now, but I wasn’t all that impressed when I first met him. Allie was very angry at me for that, and Sergeant Barnes was pretty wary of me because of it. But then… I got to know Steve, and I realized what kind of person he i—was. Yeah, he was brave and smart and headstrong and reckless, but… he was also protective, and loyal, and he never swerved from what he thought was the right path. He was unfailingly kind, and a stable person who was always willing to be someone’s rock, even if he could barely stand himself. Some of you knew him as Captain America, the symbol this country needed at its lowest moment, and I ask you now… to emulate that. Please, don’t forget how very American Steve Rogers was. How he chose to stand as a symbol for what he believed America should be.” Howard took a breath. “Some of you knew him as Captain Rogers, the guy who rushed to take on the entire organization holding his best friend captive, in just a prop helmet.” He gave everyone a stern look. “I am not in any way advocating you running into a German torture den with only prop weaponry… but don’t forget Captain Rogers, who did that not for the heroics or because he was just that reckless, or for the fact that it afforded him the chance to punch Nazis in the face… but because he was a man who stood up to bullies. The fact that those bullies had his best friend made it only more important that he go after them.” He took another deep breath and coughed, fighting back tears now. “I’ll remember Captain America and Captain Rogers right along with you, but mostly I’ll remember Steve, the man who loved his best friend and my sister more than anything else in his life… including his country.”

            When Alexandrina leaned over to take a clean handkerchief from one of the Howlies, she noticed the blood running down her legs.

                                                                                                                 

 _The trigger words had been set. There were the permanent ones to keep his mind bent to HYDRA’s will, including a kill switch in a language so arcane that no one could say it accidentally, and there were the temporary ones, specifically used to prep the_ Soldat _for a mission._

 _The problem was that the temporary triggers never stuck, and when he malfunctioned on a mission, the permanent ones would likely falter as well._ Soldat _would inevitably start to regain his memories and have to be dragged back for a full wipe, regardless of whether or not his mission was complete._

_They’d even found him wandering the streets of the nearest village, asking strangers in New York accented English how to get back to Brooklyn so he could see his best friend and his wife._

            ‘

The nursery had been abandoned. Howard, who had been stockpiling baby supplies and playthings, now shoved all of it in one of his basements, not bothering to do anything else with it. Alexandrina had not spoken once since the funeral, and only got out of bed to eat a few bites of food or use the bathroom. All of Howard’s attempts to engage her in normal life had been rebuffed.

            After three weeks of silence and stillness, Howard went into Alexandrina’s room, carrying blueprints of a design for the skyscraper she had once suggested. “Allie?”

            Silence.

            “Allie, I was thinking…. About your tower idea, you know… I’ve got these designs…”

            No response.

            “Allie, goddammit, would you look at me?”

            She did not.

            “Allie, you can’t keep doing this, you have to let me help you-”

            “…Excuse me?”

            Howard brightened. “Please let me help-”

            “ _Help_?” Alexandrina hissed, and Howard took a step back from the sheer hatefulness in her voice. “You actually think you can help me? You’re the reason this happened!”

            “What?”

            “I didn’t want to have the funeral, _you_ did! _You_ put me under stress; _you’re_ the reason I lost the baby!”

            “You can’t say th-”

            “Yes, I can! You turned Steve into a supersoldier! If you hadn’t given him that serum, he never would have left me! He never would have become Captain America, he never would have gotten on that plane, and he never would have crashed!”

            “He _wanted_ to-”

            “And you didn’t think to tell him it was a bad idea!”

            “Of course I did! I talked to him numerous times-”

            “Apparently, not enough,” Alexandrina snarled. “You took Steve. You took my baby. You were so desperate to do what you wanted, that you killed the two people I loved the most!”

            Howard stood frozen in the doorway, silent and incredulous.

            “You are a selfish, arrogant prick,” Alexandrina spat, unaware that tears were running down her cheeks. “I didn’t want Steve to change. I loved him the way he was. And you didn’t change him for anything _good_. You changed him because you had the science and because you _could_. You didn’t care that I loved him or that I needed him. You just wanted to make him into a project. A _thing_.”

            “Allie, that’s _not_ -”

            “And you know what, Howard? He could still be alive. No one ever found a body. But you just insisted on this stupid funeral-”

            “I am the only reason Peggy and the others kept looking as long as they did!”

            “Unless there’s a body, he’s still alive, and he still needs us!”

            “Are you aware of how utterly ridiculous you sound?” Howard shouted, and overrode her when she tried to interrupt him again. “I am _not_ to blame for Steve becoming Captain America and taking the path he took, because it was his choice, and nor am I to blame for any of the crap you just accused me of! Clearly you are hurting and I am the easiest target for you to shoot at! Also clearly, we have issues which you refuse to work through because it’s easier for you to blame me for all your problems!” He inhaled, silencing her again. “I tried to talk to Steve about the serum. But he knew what he was doing, and he would have died without it-”

            “I am _so_ _sick_ of hearing that!” Alexandrina burst out. “It’s bullshit! If he hadn’t let you use the serum on him, I would have had more time-”

            “To _watch_ _him die anyway_!”

            “Are you implying that that’s somehow worse than listening to him crash a plane on tape? Howard, you’re really reaching-”

            “I DIDN’T DO THIS!”

            “YOU TOOK HIM AWAY FROM ME! YOU FORCED ME TO HAVE A FUNERAL AND I LOST MY BABY BECAUSE OF IT!” Alexandrina’s chest heaved with pent-up sobs.

            Howard turned on his heel and slammed the door.

            After half an hour, Alexandrina went downstairs and found him in the basement, working on the blueprints for the building that would one day become Stark Tower. “You know how to cryogenically freeze someone, don’t you?”

            Howard looked up. “Yes… what’s this about?”

            “I want you to do that to me.”

            “Why?”

            “I want to go to sleep. I don’t want to feel anymore.”

            Howard set down the blueprints. “You can’t just not deal with your problems-”

            “Oh, shut up with your shit. I want to be frozen. All I’m doing is hurting and I don’t want to feel any of it. I don’t want to live without my baby, and I don’t want to watch you fuck up any more of our lives.”

            Howard opened his mouth, shut it, and then opened it again. “…For how long?”

            “Until Steve comes back.”

            He groaned. “Allie-”

            “Just do it.”

            “Allie, you can’t just-”

            “Don’t you dare tell me what I can and can’t do,” Alexandrina snarled, but it was more exhausted than she meant it to be. “I want to be frozen. Now. I can’t do anything for anybody and I’m tired of trying. I want to be frozen. Now.”

            “There’s a tank at my lab.”

            “Then bring it here.”

            Howard threw the blueprints across the room. “Fine. Maybe I’ll finally be able to exist in peace.”

            Alexandrina opened her mouth to tell him… what? That she was sorry, that she hadn’t meant a single word of it, that she was angry and bitter that she hadn’t been able to save Steve, that Lydia had walked into HYDRA’s embrace without a single thought of what it might do to her, her supposed friend, when all they had left of home was each other… And that she blamed herself, for the choice she had to make, between waiting for Steve and choosing to help Tony; she blamed herself and not Howard, for every bit of it, especially the fact that she hadn’t been enough for the baby, the one thing she’d wanted most in the world—

            But Howard was turning toward the door, calling for a couple of cars over the intercom, asking assistants to disassemble the cryo tank so it would fit on the journey.

            “I hate you,” he whispered finally, so quietly that it was almost inaudible.

            “…I know.”

 

The first thing that hit Lydia was the light. There wasn’t a lot of it, but what there was of it was harsh and unyielding, unforgiving. The second thing that hit her was the cold. Half-awake, with barely enough strength to shiver, she tried to place herself, to remember—

            _Bucky_.

            She groaned, and hands tugged her out of the cryo tank—warm hands, but hands she nonetheless didn’t want anywhere near her. Laughter surrounded her; she was being dragged— _Jesus Christ, they’re going to electrocute me—I’m going to forget everything—oh my God, what year is it?_

            They dragged her to a huge room full of exercise equipment and weapons, and threw her on the floor in the middle of it. She was too tired to keep fighting; all she could do was curl into a ball. Russian words were shot at her like bullets, and suddenly, one of the men, dressed in a KGB uniform with a small HYDRA insignia on the left side of his chest, filled her vision, waving a knife in her face before putting it to her throat.

            “Spread your legs, bitch!”

            She understood that, and it hadn’t been said in English; the horrible possibility of them taking her out of cryofreeze, programming her, and putting her back in, suddenly occurred to her, and she whimpered.

            The man above her was pawing at her—he’d forced her knees apart and yanked her pants down. His fingers were cold and dirty and dear God, it _hurt_ —

            Other men had gathered around her to watch, and at the urging of his friends, another man joined the first and lifted Lydia up, spreading her ass apart. They were enjoying this—they were downright giggling at her—didn’t she have magic now couldn’t she stop them—

            _The cuffs._

            She felt a horrible, ugly pain throughout her lower body and screamed—

            Suddenly, the men were tugged off of her and Lydia heard a sound; it was completely new to her, but she couldn’t fail to identify it.

            The sound was, unmistakably, a human head being bashed repeatedly into concrete.

            Now it was the men who were screaming, not her; she brought her arms up over her head, her vision unfocused. One of the men screamed something about the cameras—turn the cameras on, you worthless cunts—and the crack of his neck breaking echoed throughout the room before all went silent.

            “What happened here?”

            Metal plates lifted and resettled in agitation. “They were raping her,” came the answer, in flat, cold Russian.

            Lydia’s heart stopped beating. Near her, someone was sucking in air in short bursts, as though desperate for it; she chanced a glance and saw a young, terrified handler, also in a KGB uniform, gun hanging loosely in his trembling hand.

            “And you thought you had the authority to stop them?” The director of HYDRA stood in front of him, face impassive.

             “ _Oна моя.”_

 _She is mine_. Lydia turned her head at that, and looked at her husband. Her first thought was, _That isn’t my Bucky. That’s someone else entirely and Steve will mistake him for Bucky years from now._

The man standing near her could only be described as a monster. He rose to six feet, five inches, and was an impenetrable wall of muscle and armor. His hair hung, lank and greasy, in his face, and he had a thick beard much like the one he’d had when he’d marched back into camp with Steve. The metal arm was on him now, and it was somehow ten times worse than its representation in the movies—bigger, more refined, a menacing marvel of technology that only served to weaponize the man even more. He shot a glance at her; his barrel chest rose and fell, and Lydia wanted to scream at how dead his eyes were.

            A strangled squeak was all that emerged.

            “What do you mean, Soldat?”

             “Oна моя,” he repeated, a little stubbornly, and took a step toward her.

            Lydia couldn’t help herself—she flinched.

            “Why do you say that? How do you know her?”

            “I do not. I do not know her.” He was getting nervous, and so was the director.

            “Then why do you say she is yours? What is her name?”

            “Oна моя. She has no name.” He saw the tears slipping down Lydia’s cheeks, and once again, reached for her.

            “Niet!” the director shouted, his voice shrill. “Wipe him!”

            “NO!” Lydia bellowed, stumbling to her feet, heedless of her weakness, her nakedness, the blood and the semen on her. “Leave him alone; he doesn’t know!”

            “SHUT UP! Take him! Take them both! NOW!”

            The young handler and one of the men who had survived _Soldat’s_ assault moved forward; the handler put the gun to _Soldat’s_ head, trying to hide the way his hand shook. _Soldat_ paid no attention to him, but instead, grabbed a towel off the rack and threw it at Lydia. She caught it out of pure reflex and wrapped it around herself as they were led up a few flights of stairs and into a large circular room with a chair in the middle. The handler guided Soldat to it and two nonplussed interns clearly in the middle of cleaning up from the last wipe buckled him back in.

            The machines came down and clamped on either side of his head.

            “STOP IT! Don’t hurt him, don’t-”

            The machines came to life and _Soldat_ opened his mouth and screamed. Both his fists clenched and his body tightened. The director was repeating the permanent trigger words, essentially reactivating the Winter Soldier and starting with a fully clean slate. _Soldat’s_ chest heaved with his screams, but to Lydia, they sounded like they were being uttered in rage, not pain. After saying the permanent triggers, the director said the temporary ones, readying _Soldat_ for a mission.

            “ _Soldat_?”

            “Oна моя,” he murmured.

            All the oxygen escaped the room at once. Soldat felt it; he shifted and moved toward Lydia.

            “Stop.”

            He froze.

            “How do you know her? What is her name?”

            ““Oна моя. She has no name. I do not know her.”

            “Nothing belongs to you, Soldat. Why do you say she is yours?”

            A flash of frustrated confusion passed across his face. ““Oна моя.”

            “He doesn’t know,” Lydia whined desperately, trying to get out of the grip of the agent that held her. “Leave him alone!”

            “You touched him with your magic, bitch!” the director burst out. “You must have done something—for God’s sake, get those damn rings off her and put her in the chair until she gives it up!”

            It all happened within a few seconds, but to Lydia, it seemed to take an hour. The agent restraining her pulled a knife and snatched at her wrist, readying himself to cut her finger off. A blast of magic that Lydia had no control over came from under the cuff and blasted him in the face. Blood sprayed her; she went to her knees, shrieking, just as terrified as the rest of them. _Soldat’s_ handler turned his gun on her and Lydia actually saw his finger pull the trigger—saw the bullet leave the gun—

            And _Soldat_ moved in front of her, his left hand extended. The bullet ricocheted off his metal palm; he curled his hand into a fist and punched—the handler went down with a horrible groan, his nose all but flat. The interns in the room shouted in terror as tranquilizer darts from the director and his backup rained down; _Soldat_ blocked them, dragging Lydia back against the wall, shielding her with his own body.

            Her ears were ringing, but she still heard her husband’s voice, gravelly from screaming, but low and threatening:

            “Touch her again and every single one of you dies.”

            The director paused, clearly weighing his options, and backed off. Lydia blinked, confusion and suspicion warring on her face. “You say she is yours?”

            “да.”

            “Then you can have her… if you complete the mission we have planned for you. And it just so happens that she’ll be the perfect cover for you.”

            “What do you mean?” Lydia whispered behind _Soldat_. He shot her a look, but as the director approached, he relaxed, holding his metal arm to his side.

            “We need you to be his cover,” the director repeated, as if he were speaking to a three-year old. He held out a folder for _Soldat_ to take. “One target, level ten.”

            _Soldat_ took the folder and Lydia saw a picture of President Kennedy pinned to the inside. She inhaled abruptly, hissing air through her teeth.

            “Why must she go?”

            “Because the target is going to be at a parade and he is rumored to be asking to have the convertible top down. No bulletproof glass.”

            _Soldat_ raised an eyebrow and Lydia felt a hysterical laugh bubble up in her chest. “That still does not explain why she must go.”

            “We’ll have to do this in the daytime, so we can’t just take you there and drop you off. Too many people will be there; we can only send one car and we can’t send others in to scout a location for you. You’ll have to go tomorrow morning and do it yourselves. With the security, the number of people…” The director shrugged, acknowledging the inconvenience. “But we might never get this opportunity again. So, you and your precious bitch will be going. Posing as husband and wife.” He smirked. “You’ll stay in a hotel—and thank God, we have plants there waiting for you, who will supervise—pretending like you’re on your honeymoon, and on the day of the parade, you’ll take out your target. We will pick you up the next morning.”

            “I can accomplish this mission on my own,” _Soldat_ contradicted. “I do not need her. You will put her in danger.”

            “She is your cover,” the director explained, a bite in his voice, though it was calm. “You can’t just wander alone on the President’s parade route; you’d look suspicious. Too many people will be there, in broad goddamn daylight, and the majority of them will be in groups. We can’t have too many cars pulling in, either-”

            “Just put him on top of a fucking building and let him shoot,” Lydia spat.

            She could have sworn she saw amusement in _Soldat’s_ eyes.

            The director stared her down. “If you both don’t complete this mission to our satisfaction, you will both be punished. And you will not appreciate that punishment.”

            A flash of Red Skull and Zola, promising her that they could make her kill Bucky, went through her mind. The director patted her cheek, and Lydia flinched. “We were going to wake you up tomorrow, just in time for your trip,” he chirped annoyingly, “but lucky for you, you get an extra day to prepare! Why don’t you follow me and we’ll-”

            “She comes with me,” _Soldat_ interrupted, and his metal arm shifted. The flesh hand dug protectively into her shoulder. “She is mine.”

            “She needs the details of the mission-”

            “We both do. Brief her tomorrow on the way.”

            “…You should know better than to talk back, _Soldat_.” Despite his irritation, Lydia definitely heard the fear in his voice.

            “She is mine. I will take care of her.” It was contradictory again, but mild, calm; he pulled Lydia close. He presented no threats, only facts, and held up her cuffed wrist as evidence. “She is of value; if she was not, you would not have kept her. She has no way to defend herself. I will protect her.”

            The director looked helplessly around the room, now empty, before sighing. “Fine. Then lock her in cell 223-A. You are not to communicate with her until tomorrow on the way to the location.”

            “Affirmative. She is in need of a cleaning and clothes.”

            “You will hose her down. Someone will bring her clothing. When that is finished, you will return to your quarters.”

            “Affirmative.”

            “Dismissed.”

            _Soldat_ swept her up in his arms, oblivious of her ruined state, and carried her slowly back downstairs. Bypassing the room with her cryo tank, he took her down one more flight of stairs into a large basement.

            “Hold still… мышка,” he commanded softly, setting her down in the middle of the room. Lydia obeyed, turning her back and bracing herself as he fiddled with the hose. Freezing water hit her, and she rocked forward with the force. After he rinsed her off, he opened the cupboard and brought out a towel, a roll of bandages, and a blanket.

            “Dry yourself off.”

            She did. He tossed the dirty towel she had been wearing in the trash and wrapped her in the blanket before gingerly picking her up and carrying her to her cell.

            Lydia hadn’t been aware she was crying until he squatted in front of her and caught a tear on his finger. “Why do you weep?”

            “I… don’t know,” she whispered miserably. They were disobeying commands. They both knew it.

            He caught sight of the rings on her left hand and picked it up, gently tugging at them. To Lydia’s surprise, they began to slide off. Her fingers curled protectively around her emerald ring. “That’s mine.”

            “…You love someone.”

            She nodded.

            “He loves you… very much.”

            Lydia’s chest constricted, and she fought to get the words out. “…I love him, too.”

            Someone came in the cell, threw clothes at her, gave _Soldat_ a terrified look, and left. Lydia ignored him, eyes on the man who had once been her husband. He still had his old ring in his hand, but passed it back to her, getting to his feet.

            “ _Soldat_ … wait.”

            He turned.

            “You called me…мышка? ‘Little mouse’… why?”

            “…Because… you squeak.”


	21. A la Folie F

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Swearing, sad letter, smut. It's pretty textbook.

_Dear Allie,_

_I have woken you up once every year since 1945. You know this, you tell me to let you go back to sleep every time I do. It’s been eighteen years, and you still refuse to join the land of the living._

_I miss the old Allie, my sister who used to be involved in pretty much everything, to the point where I wanted to tear my hair out. I threw away those blueprints of that tower you suggested. I don’t want to work on it without you. Someone else will have to put Trump out of business. He’s actually got a kid now, and I heard it’s a total brat._

_The war ended while you were asleep. I tried to tell you. I wish you had wanted to join the celebrations, but it probably would have just made you sad._

_You have now officially beaten me at being able to run away from your problems. Unfortunately, you can’t force someone out of cryo—they have to be prepped for at least twenty-four hours, or the effects on the person’s body would be disastrous—but I dearly wish you could. I know you lost everyone you cared about, Allie, but what happened wasn’t either of our faults, and I think you know that. I have tried for my entire life to be a good big brother to you, but you never wanted me. Even when we were little, and you were barely big enough to speak, I was the focus of your ire. I never knew why._

_I also wish that you would have given yourself a chance at a life with another person. I know Steve can never be replaced, and I’m not asking you to do that, but you deserve much more than you’ve given yourself._

_I’m writing this to you like you’re going to wake up and listen to me, which I know is bullshit._

_The real, honest to God reason I’m writing this is because I’m going on a working vacation for a couple of years. Actually, everyone thinks I’m going to see you—I told the public you moved to France after you lost the baby. They think you’re a recluse now. Convenient, right?_

_Anyway, since I’m going to be gone for so long, I’ve left you some instructions and documents, like my will, with this letter. Something might happen to me—I bet you’re secretly hoping for it—and I want you to know what to do in case it does. In the event of my death, I’ve notified the police of your existence, in a roundabout way, so they’re the ones who might be waking you up._

_Of course, if you’re reading this, they’ve already woken you up and I’m long gone. But it’s only 1963. I hope I still have a good long time left._

_I’m not really sure what I wanted to accomplish with this letter, other than to say that everything that happened wasn’t your fault, and that I wish you were here._

_I wish you loved me._

_Your big brother,_

_Howard_

**November 21, 1963**

 

 _Soldat_ came to Lydia early the next morning, and found her shivering under the ratty blanket he had given her. After bundling her more securely in the blanket, he walked her outside, a protective arm around her, and they made their way to the launch pad, where something that looked like a sleeker version of a helicopter waited for them. _Soldat_ herded her onto it first, buckling her seatbelt before getting put in restraints himself. The director was waiting for them there, and he buckled himself in as well, preparing for a long ride.

            And long it was; Lydia was fairly sure that this odd helicopter was moving much faster than any plane in the modern era would have, but there was still more than enough time for her to fall asleep in the thankfully warm cabin, wrapped in her blanket. Once, she woke up to find herself leaning heavily to the side, her head on _Soldat’s_ metal arm; the director was staring at them in disgust.

            As they got closer and the cabin went from warm to cool, he removed Lydia’s cuff. She rubbed her wrists vigorously, suddenly aware that she’d worn that cuff for close to twenty years. “Here’s what’s going to happen,” the director began. “As I said, you’ll be posing as a newlywed couple on your honeymoon. We’ve reserved a hotel suite for you, so enjoy the amenities while you can.” He could barely keep the smirk off his face, and Lydia hated him deeply for it. The parade is set to take place at exactly noon tomorrow, give or take a few minutes. You’ll need to scout for locations, and our two plants already inside will set up overnight. Use at least two guns. If possible, make it look as though you have two targets. We want people to be as confused as possible. And for God’s sake, _blend_ _in_.”

            _Soldat’s_ eyes flicked, almost imperceptibly, to his metal arm.

            “That’s where you come in,” the director addressed Lydia. “You need to make sure he can stay undercover.”

            Lydia nodded and raised her hands. Flesh appeared and began to crawl over the metal arm; she noticed the men’s twin looks of alarm and rolled her eyes. “It’s still there,” she reassured them. After that, she redressed herself and _Soldat_ in clothes more appropriate to the time period, changed their hairstyles, and hid _Soldat’s_ armor in his suitcase, making sure that if someone opened it, he or she would see only regular luggage.

            “The rest of your weapons are with our plants. They’ve been there for a week and they’ll be waiting for you to arrive. I’ll be going back to headquarters from your drop-off point, so you’ll be reporting to them.”

            “Understood.” _Soldat’s_ nostrils flared, and Lydia shuddered; the threat was loud and clear, though unsaid.

            “Good.”

            They landed, surprisingly quietly, in a rural area, and found an empty car with the words JUST MARRIED printed gaily on the back, streamers waving in the light wind. Lydia sighed, took Bucky’s old ring off her finger, and slid it onto his. The director gave them a map to follow, pointed out their destination, and got right back into the helicopter.

            Lydia slept more on the drive to the hotel, but jolted awake when the car stopped. _Soldat_ herded her out of it, impatient, and took their suitcases out of the trunk, walking into the hotel like it was nothing, and picking up their room key. Lydia kept a stupid smile plastered on her face and easily took _Soldat’s_ arm when he offered it to her, traipsing upstairs. The desk clerks were gushing about how cute the newlywed couple was, and she saw the traces of a smirk on his face as they went down the hallway; he offered her the room key and knocked on the door next to their room. It was answered by two strangers, clearly the plants that had been sent in, and _Soldat_ gently nudged Lydia in the direction of their own door so the three of them could talk. She unlocked it and went in.

            They’d pulled out all the stops, and Lydia’s mouth dropped in horror and disgust as she realized they were getting just the reaction they wanted from her. A sign hung in the corner of the room, screaming, “CONGRATULATIONS!” over a huge bottle of champagne on ice. The bed was littered with yellow rose petals, and they even had a Jacuzzi.

            “мышка?”

            She jumped.

            “We need to go. There are a few hours left in the day.”

            “…Go where?”

            “Along the parade route.” He raised an eyebrow. “Come.”

            “Wouldn’t that be a little obvious?” Lydia asked, following him back down the stairs. “Let’s just go find…” She lowered her voice. “I know somewhere.”

            “…You do?”

            She nodded. “Can I see the map?”

            He handed it to her. Lydia sighed and took the back way around, until they stood in front of the Texas School Book Depository. “…Sixth floor.”

            He raised an eyebrow. “How do you know?”

            “The angle is perfect.”

            “You can’t have gotten a look at any of the briefings…”

            “Well, we can’t just waltz in there and look, can we? You’re going to have to trust me.”

            “The others will come here early tomorrow morning and see which floor is best.” Soldat put a hand on her shoulder. “Well done, мышка.”

            “…Thank you.”

            He bought her an ice cream cone as twilight was falling, speaking with the vendor in a perfect Brooklyn accent, and led her back to the hotel. They reported their findings back to the agents, who immediately left, clearly anxious. Once _Soldat_ had closed their door, Lydia saw a red light blink on just above the doorway.

            “Change me back.”

            She did. He removed his ring and set it carefully on the table. Lydia laid down on the couch; it was only around seven, or so she thought, but she was exhausted, too tired to even look at the elaborate dinner that someone had left in their room.

            “What are you doing?”

            “I’m tired,” Lydia told him softly.

            “You’ll sleep in the bed with me.” He picked up the tray. “And you will eat first.”

            Lydia sighed, unable to find the energy to contradict him. Silently, she watched as he made them both plates and poured glasses of champagne, hating this farce more with every moment it went on. They ate without saying a single word to each other; thanks to the food, Lydia now had enough energy in her to notice just how many parts of her body hurt, and she slumped.

            _Soldat_ saw it, and cleared the plates, then made her get undressed and plunked her unceremoniously into the bath. Stripping off until he was left in just his shirt and pants, he rolled up his sleeves and put soap and hot water in the tub.

            As soon as the heat hit her, Lydia let out a groan.

            _Soldat’s_ arm whirred behind her, and she turned to see the plates shifting and locking until his arm was essentially waterproof. He picked up a rag, doused it in soap and water, and began cleaning her off.

            She shuddered once and relaxed. Contrary to his brutal appearance, his touch was light, barely there, and Lydia found herself longing for more of it. The rag slid across her left nipple, and both of them hardened instantly. She uttered a soft cry.

            The rag stilled, then slid, unnoticed, into the tub. Bucky— _no, he’s_ Soldat now—gently lifted Lydia’s hand from the water and held it, with her palm open and facing him. Curiously, lewdly, he licked the center, moving his tongue in slow circles.

            _“S—Soldat-”_

His breath fluttered against her fingers; he took one into his mouth and bit. “…Is this not what husbands and wives do?”

            “Oh… _yes…_ ”

            Abruptly, he lifted her out of the bath and carried her to the bedroom, throwing back the comforter on the bed and scattering the rose petals. As he did so, the rolled-up sleeve of his shirt caught in the plates on his arm; with an irritated grunt, he set her down on the bed and ripped it off, exposing his heaving chest. Every muscle was now defined, hyper-visible, and the hair that had once completely covered him was all but gone. He took a step toward her, and the scarring on him where flesh met metal came fully into view. It was gruesome, heartbreaking, and Lydia gasped, reaching up as if to soothe it—

            She was flat on her back, legs held in the air, before she could react. His grip on her ankles was bruising; he held her so tightly that her ass was slightly lifted off the bed. Her fingers scrabbled for purchase in the smooth sheets and found none as he brought her legs all the way up, resting her heels on his shoulders. He was still standing upright.

            “ _Soldat_ —пожалуйста-” _(Please)_

            “да, мышка?” He was smiling, _gloating_ at her, running his eyes up and down her body. Her legs trembled, just slightly, and he caught her eye. “Keep them there,” he demanded, and ran his fingers lightly along her slit.

            “Please-”

            “Please _what_?”

            It was a snarl, and Lydia flinched. _I don’t know what you expected,_ she scolded herself, tears pricking her eyes. _He’s not the man you knew anymore—_

“мышка.” He leaned forward, hovering in between her legs, their faces mere inches apart. “What do you want?”

            Reflexively, she reached up and slid her fingers through his hair, but, to her surprise, he caught her hands and slammed them on the bed, holding her wrists crossed above her head, grip like a vise.

            “ _Soldat_ —please—let me touch-”

            “нет,” he spat, and when she struggled, he ducked his head and bit her breast, hard enough to leave a small mark on her nipple.

            _Don’t touch me right now, doll, I don’t think I can handle it._

He left a hot, openmouthed kiss on the bite, soothing it, and then brushed his hips on hers, leisurely rolling his clothed pelvis against her clit. Her hips jumped; he smirked and did it again, giving her a little, but not nearly enough.

            “You have to tell me what you want.”

            “I want—I want you to touch me,” Lydia blurted, blinking the tears out of her eyes.

            He kissed one. “Where?”

            “On my—my-” She turned a color somewhere between a mortified red and mauve, and he smiled, amused.

            “You want me to touch your cunt, мышка? Stroke you until you’re dripping?”

            “Yes!”

            He cupped her, grinning when she shuddered at the cold bit of his metal palm against her heat. “You’re soaked… and I’ve barely touched you.”

            _“Soldat-”_

“I want to taste you, мышка,” he purred, lazily palming her, and then sank to his knees. “Can I do that?”

            She nodded frantically.

            “Say it.”

            “Yes—да—I mean— _God!”_ He’d given her one long, deep lick up her opening. She began to tremble violently as his tongue moved in and out, leaving her desperate and so soaked that her juices ran down her inner thighs. Holding her thighs open, he flicked her clit in a merciless rhythm, letting it swell before he put his mouth around it and sucked, almost reverently, pulling away _just_ as she was about to finish.

            “Oh, _please-”_

He chuckled, smirking up at her. “You will come when I allow it, моя красивая шлюшка.” ( _My beautiful little slut)_

_“Soldat!”_

“Скажи это еще раз.” _(Say that again)_

_“Soldat!”_

“You want to come, мышка?”

            She nodded, ignoring the frustrated, needy tears that left tracks on her cheeks. In a surprisingly gentle gesture, Soldat leaned forward and eased a sweat-dampened lock of hair away from her forehead, then cupped her cheek, cradling her tenderly before putting away to trace her lips with a thumb soaked in her juices.

            “Tell me-”

            _How much you want it, doll-baby._

“I want it—I need it-”

            “I know you do,” he cooed. “You’re so beautiful… looking like this… spread out for me…” He kissed his way back down her stomach. “You are mine, yes?”

            _Would you want me to fuck you this way?_

            “да!”

            His mouth found her again, and he pumped two metal digits inside her now, relentlessly fucking her with them as his tongue played in her folds. “So tight…so fucking tight and wet for me. Call me _Soldat_ again, мышка. Say my name.”

            _“Soldat!”_

“God, you’re close…” He gave her one long lick and pressed a finger directly to her G-spot, curling it repeatedly. “Come now, мышка. Come for me.”

            She did; he took it, using his whole mouth on her and letting her hips ride his face. Lydia moaned and panted, groaning mournfully as he drew her orgasm out as long as he possibly could. When she had come down, he got to his feet, wiping her come off his mouth, and smiled as he watched her chest heave. “ _Ya tebya imeyu,”_ he rasped, taking off his pants. _(You’re my bitch)_

“Please—come here-”

            “You want to fuck?”

            “Yes…” she breathed, lifting a hand, reaching for him. “Please…”

            “Shhh…” he whispered, crawling over her and positioning himself. “I’ll give it to you now… hold still sweetheart…”

            He thrust in all at once, and Lydia groaned, shifting suddenly, her mouth popping open.

            “ _Ya tebya—ya tebya imeyu—_ fuck, мышка-” He began thrusting. “Yes, take it… take it, you’re so good… take it all-” Her muscles clenched around him, chasing another orgasm, and he groaned next to her ear, linking their hands together, keeping them pinned on either side of her head. “Oh, да, да, мышка, my little one, yes-” He thrust one more time, stilling when he was fully seated, then rolling his hips. Lydia’s orgasm was building steadily, and her legs were locked around him—her entire body was shaking—he was growling, panting—he’d let go of her hands—her nails were drawing blood in his back—

            The headboard cracked and went to pieces under the force of his metal hand, and they came together; Lydia’s eyes rolled helplessly back in her head—she saw stars—broken sobs left her throat as she lost all sense of where she was, of _who_ she was—his voice was dim, hardly there at all—

            “Oh, мышка… my мышка… my girl… you’re mine.”


	22. A la Folie G

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings:WARNINGS: Swearing (always), nightmares, allusion to sexy times, quick mention of blood from a miscarriage, mention of depressive thoughts as a result, heads up, character death (real death? Character death?), graphic description of said character death (I am so sick of watching the damn Zapruder film, there’s only so many times you can watch a guy get his head blown off), slightly painful fingering, slight Dom/Sub punishment dynamics, smut (spanking, exhibitionism sort of, anal, choking, blowjob)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: A note on the Russian for these chapters: I have looked up every single word using two or three sources; sometimes I can’t find the Cyrillic alphabet, but most of the time I can. Some of these words have double meanings (the word for “fuck off” in Russian also means, “Leave me alone” or “get off my case” and is sometimes translated as “fuck you.” Some of these translations were chosen based on their context–some sites offer different sentences, and I chose the best context. So. The translations I’ve used are the translations and boy, oh, boy, I will never use the Cyrillic alphabet again because I am so sick of hitting copy, paste, copy, paste

“STEVE! DINNER!”

            “GIVE ME TWO SECONDS, DRINA!”

            “STEVE! NOW!”

            “But Drina-”

            “RIGHT NOW.”

            Alexandrina heard the good-natured grumbling before she saw her husband. Oddly, the first thing she thought when he appeared was that something was… _off_ … with him, but when he smiled at her, she dismissed the strange thought. He was the same as he had always been—tall, exactly her height, lean, maybe a little skinny, which was a result of all the sicknesses he’d had as a child. He was generally healthy now, though, if slightly more susceptible to colds than others. Clearly, she’d interrupted his painting time; likely, it was a commission he was on a deadline to complete. His face was splattered with freckles made of paint—he’d been leaning too close to his canvas again.

            “Lydia and Buck canceled again,” she announced, taking the meal out of the oven.

            “ _Again_?”

            “They can’t keep their hands off each other.” Alexandrina giggled at his face. Despite now being a fully operational married man, he was still remarkably prudish when it came to discussing sex. She found it adorable. “Here. Sit down and eat.”

            “What did you make?”

            “Lobster mac and cheese.”

            “My favorite!” Steve scooted up to the table and dug right in when she put a bowl in front of him. “Thank you, sweetheart. I’ll do the dishes.”

            “That’s good, honey.” Privately, Alexandrina thought that they wouldn’t be getting to those tonight.

            “How was your day?”

            “Just fine!” It was a little too chipper, and he gave her a look. She put a huge bite of food in her mouth and struggled to retain her composure. “Uh… Howard and I worked on stuff all day.”

            “I’m so glad you stopped fighting,” Steve told her. It was more of a question than a declaration.

            “Well, we’re never actually going to stop fighting,” Alexandrina answered him, smiling wryly. “But we’re better.”

            “You worked together to save me. Was that what did it?”

            Alexandrina nodded, a sudden lump in her throat. Steve had been so sick, so close to death… so she’d shelved her pride and gone to the man who was, in the end, her brother, and who always had been. The two of them and a doctor named Erskine had developed a serum that had essentially put all of Steve’s ailments on hold, effectively freezing him, until they could give him one that would cure him fully. They’d kept an eye on him all through the resulting growth spurt, and so far, as long as he injected himself once a week with a shot of the first serum, the effects of the second one had stuck.

            “Drina?”

            “Sorry… I just…”

            “You were thinking about before again, weren’t you?”

            “Yeah. I’m sorry. I can’t help it sometimes. I was so afraid I was going to lose you.”

            “You didn’t. I’m right here,” he chided her gently.

            _Then why do I still feel like I’ve already lost you sometimes?_

            The thought had come unbidden to her head, and it so confused her that she abandoned her barely-touched dinner and came around to his side of the table, kissing him feverishly. He startled, surprised by her abrupt fervor, but quickly kissed her back with equal enthusiasm, standing up and backing her to the counter; she broke the kiss and hoisted herself up on it, then left a mark on his neck. He came between her legs, palming her steadily and groaning—she groaned too, and he felt himself start to harden at the sound—

            A baby’s cry froze them both.

            “That’s the diaper alarm,” Steve joked regretfully, his voice a little breathless. “I’ll get her.”

            _Wait, I never knew if I had a girl or a boy_ … Alexandrina thought about telling him this, but what kind of ridiculous response was that?

            All of a sudden, as Steve turned from her, he changed—he grew taller, more muscular—he was wearing some sort of bizarre red, white, and blue outfit—

            “Steve?”

            _Captain America—_

“Steve!” she screamed, but he didn’t turn; her cry was drowned out by her baby’s—

            _There was blood—so much blood—_

“Wait— _no!”_

Alexandrina was so cold, she was shivering violently—Steve was gone, Lydia was gone, her baby was dead—she hadn’t been enough—

            The darkness pulled her back in.

 

**November 22, 1963**

 

 _Soldat_ had cleaned Lydia up after they had calmed down, then tucked her in bed with him, murmuring a strange mixture of epithets and endearments. For most of the night, his hands stroked her, soothed her, and in the early hours of the morning as she’d finally begun to recover from her tears, he let her lay with her head under his chin, clinging desperately to him.

            Early that morning, he’d woken her with sweet kisses to her face and hands, watched her dress and eat, and made her change his appearance before he’d checked in with the two agents next door, prepping for later.

            They’d opened their own door and their faces had instantly turned fire-truck red. Neither of them had said a word, and upon realizing why they were so embarrassed, Lydia had turned a ridiculous shade of purple. Everyone but _Soldat_ had avoided each other’s eyes and no one had said more than what was necessary. The weapons had been placed at the location, the sixth floor was a go (Lydia got a kiss on the cheek from _Soldat_ for that), and the agents, as instructed, were to go nowhere near the scene.

            _Soldat_ and Little Mouse had left on their own.

            They bided their time in the textbook depository, with _Soldat_ checking his weapons and watching carefully out the window.

            “You don’t have to do this,” Lydia blurted.

            He turned. “What?”

            “You shouldn’t do this, _Soldat_.” She took a shaky breath. “Do you know who this is?”

            “I don’t care,” he muttered, his eyes narrowing.

            “But it’s the president of the United States.”

            He raised an eyebrow. “And we want him dead.”

            “Please don’t,” Lydia whined, stepping in front of him and taking his arm. The dim sounds of the approaching motorcade could be heard in the distance. “Please— _Soldat_ , we can leave now, we can run, together-”

            “And go where?” he snapped, kneeling by the window behind his rifle. “They would kill us.”

            “I could hide us, _Soldat_ , I have magic-”

            “They could track us, woman; hush now.”

            She could see the beginning of the motorcade. “How can you just do this? Don’t you hate them for what they do to you? _How_ can you follow them?”

            He rose and backed her to the wall; Lydia went completely pale and her mouth opened in horror. To her own shame, she flinched when he laid a hand on her cheek, cradling it. “They are all I know,” he murmured, stroking her hair and resting his hand on her throat. “And how can I hate the people who gave me my sweet мышка?”

            “ _Soldat_ -”

            He squeezed her throat briefly, ignoring her shocked face. “ _Please_ … do not make me question myself again.”

            The motorcade was upon them now, and swiftly, he knelt back in front of the window and positioned his rifle. “Shit,” he muttered; Lydia could see him rapidly calculating, his eyes narrowed, dangerous in his concentration. He took the shot; Lydia saw one of the figures in the car throw his hands up toward his throat and gagged.

            “Look away, мышка.”

            “No.”

            “I said, _close your fucking eyes._ ”

            A shudder wracked her at the sound of his voice, but she held her own. “No. I… I need to see this.”

            “отвяжись,” _(fuck off)_  he muttered, and the gun went off a second time. Her eyes widened, taking in the gory detail she had never seen before—Kennedy’s head was suddenly a mass of red and gleaming white—she could see the stains building on Jackie’s pink outfit—and she barely heard the sound of two more shots as she stumbled back toward the wall, her hands over her mouth. She was fairly certain the two extra shots were blanks, meant to throw anyone off the trail, but didn’t ask. The horrified screaming on the ground had begun in earnest.

            _Soldat’s_ metal hand joined hers on her mouth, halting her cry. He was behind her, and he rucked up her skirt and ripped her panties, thrusting two of his fingers into her and fucking her, frantic and brutal. Lydia came with a throb of pain, but he curled his fingers against her G-spot, driving himself deeper and causing her to thrash with another orgasm, to make his point. She let out a broken sob and he withdrew his fingers, whipping her around by the arm and bringing her to his chest, holding her close. “Why did you look? Fuck, мышка, why?”

            “I—I-”

            “We have to go.” He backed away from her. “Get rid of the evidence.”

            She waved her hand, and the guns disappeared, leaving only the harsh odor of her arousal.

            “Get us out of here.”

            They disappeared, then reappeared across the street from their hotel. _Soldat_ pulled her close, running his fingers through her hair while she tried to stop her sobs. “Walk with me,” he commanded, in English, his Brooklyn accent back. The menacing edge was unmistakable, and it made Lydia gag again. “Come on now, sweetheart.”

            He wasn’t done with her yet.

            They made their way across the street, his arm securely around her, half dragging her. No one noticed when they came through the lobby; they were gathered around radios and a little TV, horror radiating off them in waves as broadcasters and reporters interrupted regular shows with the announcement that “something had happened during the President’s motorcade.”

            “It’s true,” one of the desk clerks muttered. “Someone just came in here, screaming about how Jackie O climbed on the back of the car to grab something. Said it looked like JFK’s _skull_.”

            Lydia sobbed and _Soldat_ shushed her, taking her upstairs and quickly unlocking their room. He put the rest of the champagne in her hand, not bothering to pour it in a glass, and left to report to the agents. Lydia took a rather large gulp and her sobs turned to hiccups.

            “мышка.”

            She jumped. “Quit doing that!”

            He chuckled. “Drink it all. Yes, that’s a good girl.” He gave her a pitying look as she chugged the rest of the bottle, but she could swear there was bemusement in his eyes.

            “Change me back.”

            She did.

            “Undress.”

            Lydia tried, she truly did, but her hands were shaking too badly to carry out his order. He rolled his eyes, ripped her clothes to shreds, then took her to the bathroom, snatching a pillow on the way, and slammed the door shut behind them. Lydia caught a glimpse of herself in the floor-length mirror on the door, and blinked, noticing herself for the first time since she had gone after her husband. She was a little underweight, her eyes were sunken and haunted, her cheekbones jutted out, and her hair brushed her shoulders.

            “красивая…” _(beautiful)_ _Soldat_ murmured, tucking it back behind her ear. “You nearly botched the mission.”

            She turned pink. “You could have done it.”

            He smirked, kissing her neck. “I’m good, мышка, but I’m not perfect. You will not do that again.”

            Lydia shook her head.

            “Prove it to me.” He tossed the pillow on the ground. “встань на колени, сука.” _(Get on your knees, bitch)_

Lydia went to her knees with a small whimper, and _Soldat_ smiled, unbuckling his pants.

            She felt like exactly what he had called her.

            “I want you to use your mouth on me, мышка,” he told her. “Do you think you can do that?”

            “…Yes.”

            He eyed her speculatively, and his erection sprang free; Lydia bit her lip and saw his pupils dilate. “If you need up…” He offered her his flesh wrist, “tap me twice.”

            Lydia nodded, curling her fingers around it.

            “You want it?”

            “…Please…”

            His metal hand curled in her hair, and he brought her forward. Carefully, she fitted her mouth around him, trying to gain some control, but he wouldn’t give it to her. With a low groan, he forced her head back and forth on him, and Lydia took a deep breath, closing her eyes.

            “Look at me, шлюшка.” _(Little slut)_

She obeyed; he bared his teeth in an animalistic grimace, clearly fighting to keep his hips still. “You’re so fuckin’ pretty doin’ that-”

            Lydia gagged, planting her free hand on his hip; his grip tightened on her hair and he moved her faster, a growl ripping up from his throat. She hummed a low note, opening up her throat, and _Soldat_ lost control of his hips—he fucked her mouth relentlessly and Lydia braced herself—

            He came with a grunt, keeping her head still but wrenching himself backward; she swallowed and squeezed her eyes shut. His wrist left her grip and she heard him stumble a little, before a sink turned on. Very carefully, she opened her eyes.

            He was ripping his shirt off, soaking it in warm water, and offered it to her, a satisfied smile pulling at the corners of his lips. “Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” Lydia snapped, and wiped off her face and neck, starting to get up.

            “Stay there.”

            She sank back to her knees, throwing the shirt in the bathtub. Soldat joined her on the floor, cupping her jaw and brushing his lips against hers. “I am sorry we cannot run,” he whispered. “I wish we could.”

            A horrible pain welled up in Lydia’s chest and overwhelmed her, and she hung her head, suddenly bursting into silent tears. Soldat forced her chin up, kissing her mouth tenderly. “Give yourself to me, мышка. …I do not want to sleep tonight.”

            She nodded, and he eased her down on all fours, spinning her to face the mirror, then going behind her. “I want you dripping, not weeping,” he whispered close to her ear, and Lydia shuddered. “Open your legs a little more and show me that pretty ass.”

            She did, but caught sight of them both in the mirror and froze.

            Soldat smiled. “I’m going to fuck you like this, and you’re going to watch me,” he told her, squeezing her ass almost playfully with his flesh hand. “Do you want that, мышка?”

            Her mouth opened; she tried vainly to inhale, and found it was impossible.

            He spanked her lightly, gauging her reaction. Lydia groaned and he massaged her flesh. “Do you?”

            She nodded.

            He spanked her again, a little harder this time. “Say it.”

            “…Yes...”

            Another spank. “Again.”

            “Yes.”

            _Smack._ “Louder.”

            “Yes!”

            _Soldat_ moved his hand, sliding it up to her head, and then twisted her hair around it, pulling her head back, careful not to yank. His metal hand teased her cunt mercilessly, edging her over and over again until she was panting, half sobbing. “Good girl… such a good girl,” he soothed her, chuckling when her cunt quivered under his insistent rubbing. “That’s it… I need you soaked and ready… I want you to feel good…”

            “ _Soldat_ -”

            He laughed a little. “My sweet мышка… you’re so drenched, дорогуша…” _(My darling)_

Lydia groaned, and he shifted to one knee, coating his hand in her juices and slowly beginning to open up her ass. He unwound her hair from his other hand and moved it to her throat instead, lifting her head up and making eye contact with her in the mirror. “You wanted to watch,” he murmured, leaving hot, open-mouthed kisses on her neck, keeping her soaked. “So watch me fuck you, мышка. Keep your eyes open.”

            He started slowly, whispering encouragement, his epithets paradoxically gentle. Lydia moaned and writhed, dug her fingers against the unyielding glass of the mirror, drove herself back on him, and watched herself do it all. She saw her own fists clench, saw her body arch, saw Soldat’s fingers softly squeeze her neck in time with every tremble of her muscles. His thrusts began to quicken; he eased them both to their feet and slammed her back to his chest, fucking her cunt now, each thrust brutally deep. His hips rolled and guttural sounds of need left their throats; he was swearing in Russian—

            “Come. Come with me. Come now.”

            And she did, watching herself shatter at his hands, simultaneously accepting and shunning her vulnerability with this man as she did so.

            When he peeled away from her, she wobbled and almost collapsed. Pain shot through her fingers, straight up to her shoulders, and she moaned softly in pain upon realizing that she’d broken nails and drawn blood by gripping the mirror and the floor. Soldat swept her up effortlessly and put her in the bath, massaging her entire body; he refused to let her use his magic on either of them, instead choosing to keep the bruise on his knee and hip, and tenderly bandaging her fingers himself, kissing them as he did so. “Did I hurt you today, мышка?” he asked suddenly, forcing her to look at him. His eyes were wide. “I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry.”

            “ _Soldat_ -”

            “I don’t want to hurt you.”

            “I know,” she whispered, tears gathering at the corners of her eyes. “I know you don’t, _Soldat_ -”

            “I promise.”

            “I know you do.” Her bandaged hands trembled, and he lifted them up to his mouth, reverently kissing them. “Are you sure you don’t want me to use my magic? You’ve got some scratches on your back—I think those are from last night.”

            “I like when you mark me, мышка,” he told her, checking his back in the mirror and smirking at the jagged marks. “It means…as you are mine… I am also yours.”


	23. A la Folie H

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Blood, implied punishment (torture and beating), implied electrocution, small human (hey, it’s a warning for me, lol), guess who shows up (hint: Pierce), swearing, ANGST

**September 13, 1965**

_Dear Allie,_

_I got married a couple of weeks ago. I wish you had been there, but I didn’t want to wake you up, you actually looked peaceful, and I prefer not being screamed at. Do you dream of Steve and your child while you sleep? Or of ways to murder me?_

_I really wanted you to be my best man. Yes, I know that sounds odd, but that’s the closest position a groom can offer, and nobody but you should have had it. I had to have Obadiah do it, and it wasn’t the same. I’m starting to think you were right about him, Allie. He is a little creepy._

_Anyway, I really wish you were here to talk marriage and babies with me. This was always your thing, and I am seriously lost. We just got back from our honeymoon yesterday, and I loved the traveling—God, Europe is amazing; one day when you wake up and don’t hate me anymore, I promise I’ll take you on a tour—but now I don’t know what to do. I wake up every day and the same woman is in my bed, and she makes breakfast, and then I just go to work like normal and she… well, I don’t know what she does. I can hear you in my head, saying, “Why don’t you fucking talk to her, idiot?” and… well… what the hell do I talk about? I don’t think she knows much about science or the company, and she’s really on a completely different orbit than I am._

_You’d have the answer. You can be an annoying, bratty bitch whose best quality is currently sprinting as fast as you can, as far as you can, away from your problems, but when it comes to family, you have all the answers. I could really use my sister. Maria could probably use a girl friend._

_My impending child could use an aunt, and not just a friend’s ratty old teddy bear._

_I’m sorry I was such an asshole._

_Love,_

_Howard_

“Wake up! Come on, you stupid cunt, get it together!”

            Lydia opened her eyes and her head rocked to the side with the force of someone’s slap. She was flat on her back on an operating table, shivering, and apparently, had abruptly come out of cryo with no preparation at all. Her mouth opened and closed helplessly as the agent in front of her continued to shake and slap her until she was somewhat coherent. “Wha-”

            “A mission went bad. He’s gone crazy. We need you to get in there and shut him up.”

            Lydia sat up, got dizzy, and groaned. She received another slap, and then the agent ripped her cuff off. “Wake up. We’ve wasted enough time. He’s killing people in there.”

            “Wh-”

            “GO!”

            Lydia jumped, slid off the table, just barely found her footing, and walked in the direction in which they pointed her. As she neared the end of the long hallway, she thought she heard the sound of metal whirring, and ran toward the sound. When she reached the room, she saw _Soldat_ , standing by the chair, in a fighting stance, his eyes frantic and confused. Broken weapons and the dead bodies of technicians and agents littered the floor; _Soldat,_ covered in blood, gashes, and bruises, had a final one by the neck, and was holding him off the floor. Lydia gasped, clapping a hand to her mouth.

            The unfortunate technician’s neck snapped under the force of _Soldat’s_ metal hand, and he hit the floor with a sickening thump as _Soldat_ turned, baring his teeth. “что ты хочешь, сука?” _(What do you want, bitch?)_

“Soldat—please—let me help you-” She reached for him, and he caught her wrist in a horribly painful grip.

            “не трогай меня.” _(Do not touch me)_

Lydia whimpered, not daring to move her hand. “Please— _Soldat_ —you’re _hurting_ me-”

            “не трогай меня!” A trickle of blood ran down his cheek; he ignored it.

            “I won’t touch you, I won’t—please, _Soldat_ , please let go of my wrist—it’s me, please-”

            He froze. “моя мышка.” _(My Little Mouse)_

“Yes—ouch-”

            “мышка.” He let go of her wrist and pulled her close to him instead; Lydia’s nostrils flared with the scents of sweat, blood, and fear.

            “What—what happened?”

            “Bad mission,” he muttered. “Objective… not completed.”

            “Were you hurt on the mission?”

            He shook his head, his arms trembling.

            “…They… they did this to you?”

            _Soldat_ nodded this time, his arms trembling as he held her. “I… I’m sorry—I hurt you-”

            “You were just scared,” she whispered, and her wrist throbbed in protest, the pain demanding acknowledgement.

            “They will come,” he muttered, eyeing the door with hateful apprehension. “You need to go.”

            “Let me help you. Please…”

            “I don’t want your magic.”

            She nodded. “All right, _Soldat_ , if you don’t want it, I won’t use it on you.”

            He looked down at her, startled. “You won’t?”

            “Not if you don’t want it. But… I don’t want you to hurt.”

            “They do not care if I hurt.”

            “I do.” Lydia wiped her face and saw blood on her hand from where she’d touched him. “Can I… can I clean you up a little? Maybe some warm water?”

            He nodded, his breathing slowing. “That would feel good.”

            “Okay,” she whispered, and backed away from him. A bucket of water and clean rags appeared next to the chair. Reluctantly, he sat in it and presented her with his bare chest, covered in old and new scars and opened, oozing wounds. A bruise was blossoming on his right shoulder, and he hissed when his back made contact with the leather. When Lydia went around behind him, she discovered the cause—neat, horizontal welts all down his flesh.

            “Jesus Christ…”

            “What is going on in here?”

            Lydia flinched as agents, armed to the teeth, poured in and surrounded her and _Soldat_. “They… they sent me in here to-”

            “Strap him in the chair and wipe him. Then send him to the infirmary.”

 

They’d wiped him so brutally that he was unable to talk or walk once they’d finished. He’d reached for her, though, and Lydia, in tears, had followed them. They’d hooked him up to several machines and left, disgusted and irritated, and _Soldat_ had promptly patted the space beside him on the bed. There wasn’t much of it, but Lydia didn’t care; she climbed right up, tangled her limbs with his, and went to sleep, too tired to even ask what year she had woken up in.

            She awoke in what seemed like the middle of the night. Soldat, fully healed, with his arm around her, was fully awake, his eyes focused on the entrance of the room, where the small noise that startled Lydia had occurred.

            “папочка…” _(Daddy)_

“Natalia…” he breathed. “Come here.”

            A little girl, perhaps five or six years old, came out of the corner. She was red-haired, barefoot, in a little white nightgown, and held a ratty teddy bear by the foot. At his command, she scampered up onto the bed and attached herself to him like an octopus.

            Lydia’s heart screamed.

            “How did you get out of your room?”

            “Picked the lock,” she answered, holding up hairpins.

            _Soldat_ chuckled. “That’s my little ballerina.”

            “папочка-”

            “For God’s sake, Natalia, I am not your father, I am your teacher.”

            “I don’t care,” she pouted, and slammed her teddy bear down on _Soldat’s_ stomach. “They said you almost died.”

            “Don’t hurt the toy for it,” he murmured, sitting the bear up and eyeing it. “And I’m all right. She helped me.”

            Natalia Romanova, who would one day be known as Natasha Romanoff, sat up, intrigued, and looked at Lydia. “Who is she?”

            “This is my мышка.”

            “Why do you call her that?”

            “Because she squeaks,” _Soldat_ answered with a smirk, and did something behind Lydia’s back that made her do just that. Natalia giggled. “She offered to use her magic on me.”

            “Magic? Is she a witch?”

            _Soldat_ nodded.

            “She’s not ugly, though. She must be a good witch.”

            _I understood that reference._ The thought came, unbidden, to Lydia’s head, and she bit her lip.

            “No, she is not ugly. And she is a very good witch.”

            Natalia gave Lydia a thoughtful look, and then all of a sudden, crawled over _Soldat_ to her and threw her little arms around Lydia’s neck. “Thank you for saving my папочка.”

            _Soldat_ rolled his eyes indulgently, but Lydia took the tiny girl in her arms and hugged her back with all the force she could muster. “You are very welcome, Natalia,” she whispered.

            “Can… can I see some magic?”

            Lydia smiled and presented Natalia with a closed fist, and then opened it. A tongue of flame danced prettily above her palm, lighting up Natalia’s astonished face. “Oooh!” she cried, and _Soldat_ quickly shushed her.

            “You’d better get back.”

            “I don’t want to, папочка.”

            “No buts. You don’t want to get in trouble.”

            Natalia sighed.

            “Be careful. And return those hairpins.”

            She hopped off the bed. “Goodbye, ведьма и папочка.” _(Witch and daddy)_

“Do you want me to take her?” Lydia asked, a smile playing on the corners of her lips when _Soldat_ rolled his eyes again.

            “No. She knows what to do. Don’t you, Звёздочка?” _(Little star)_

“да.” She tiptoed to the door and waved. Both of them waved back, and then she left.

            Lydia thought the light in the room seemed a little bit dimmer.

 

**December 16, 1991**

 

Something was different this time; Lydia knew it the second she was brought fully out of cryo. The complex was quieter than it had been the last time, but it wasn’t because there were no impending disasters. It was an eerie silence, an orderly silence… and it sent chills down Lydia’s spine. She was given clothes, cleaned, and dragged upstairs. Not a word was spoken to her.

            “So, you’re the famous мышка!”

            Alexander Pierce was standing in his office, clearly waiting for her, with a broad grin on his face. Soldat stood in the corner, dressed in the strapped armor Lydia remembered. His stance was slightly different and the mask obscured most of his face. She felt a sickening horror wash over her when she realized that he might not remember her.                                                                                                                                    

            “I called you both here because I have a special mission for our Asset,” Pierce began, his smile widening. “Asset, if I could have a word with her in private, please?”

            Soldat turned on his heel and left. Pierce sat in his chair, leaning amicably back, still smiling. However, the atmosphere in the room went from terrifying to outright deadly. “This is my circus now,” he informed her. “And you’ve been a valuable lion tamer.” He flicked a switch on the VCR, and the television in the corner lit up with images of her talking him down after his killing spree, followed by older, grainier, but no less disturbing images of _Soldat_ fucking her in the bathroom of the hotel twenty-eight years ago. She heard herself whimpering, begging him, and _Soldat_ growling over her; Pierce watched contentedly for a few minutes before turning it off. “But you will find, as ringleader of this circus, that I run things a bit differently than you’re used to. I don’t tolerate lax judgement or loose ends, and it seemed like there was a lot of that previously going on.” He picked up Lydia’s left hand. “I know you love these rings, dear, and I don’t blame you for that, but if they’re not gone within the next week, I will rip your fingers out of their sockets and choke you with them.” He shrugged. “A week should give you enough time to send them to your next of kin… or a bank vault.

            “That said,” he continued, “I’d really like to keep you around. No one has used you to your full potential, which is horribly depressing, considering where you’re from and what you can do. Granted, using you as his little fucktoy fit as well, but… let’s just say that my vision is a bigger one. So, I’m going to make sure that you fit in with that vision. This mission is your test. If you and he both fail… I will destroy your precious _Soldat_ piece by piece in front you. And then I will activate his kill switch. I can always make another Asset, especially since I plan to be around for a good, long time.” He sighed heavily. “Do you understand me, Lydia?”

            She raised her head at the sound of her name; Pierce lifted an eyebrow.

            “Yes,” she whispered, feeling utterly powerless.

            “Yes, what?”

            “Yes, I understand.”

            “Yes, you understand, _what_?”

            “Yes, I understand… sir.”

            “That’s a good girl,” Pierce mocked, and Lydia’s stomach rolled. “Asset!”

            He came back in.

            “You’re free to go. Take her with you. Allow her to help you if you need it. Once you reach the drop off point, you will have three hours before extraction. Notify us when you arrive. Don’t waste time. Leave no evidence and no survivors.” Pierce removed Lydia’s cuff, and then allowed his Asset to lead her out.

            Lydia sobbed silently all the way to the dropoff point, but aside from a quick brush of her cheek as they were getting in the van, her _Soldat_ didn’t touch or acknowledge her.

            A motorcycle was waiting for them, and after he made the obligatory call to Pierce, Soldat put Lydia on it, fitting her wrists securely into the straps of his armor. “Try not to sit loosely,” he instructed, as Lydia adjusted herself. The motorcycle was big, but she still eyed it with dislike. “Hold on with your legs and lean into me.”

            She did, and heard him sigh as her head landed on his shoulder. He kicked the motorcycle on and they drove for a good a half a hour; Lydia began to tremble, and not just from cold. Finally, though, they saw a car up ahead. Lydia peeked around _Soldat_ … and her heart stopped.

            There were three people in that car.


	24. A LA FOLIE I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: A heart-to-heart that ends about as well as it can, graphic character death, SMUT (yup, you read that right) which is slightly dubcon for about ten seconds, use of magic, allusions to torture, cutting off of a limb, blood, ANGST. ANGST. ANGST. Part 4 will start on Wednesday!

**Two hours earlier**

 

“Allie? Allie? Focus, Allie…”

            Alexandrina opened her eyes, saw an old man above her, and panicked. _How long was I frozen? What if everything’s gone wrong? Where’s Steve, where’s Lydia, where’s—_

“It’s me… Howard. It’s 1991, and I’m old. It’s time for you to wake up now.”

            “No, it’s not… I still have twenty years,” she mumbled before she could think it through.

            “What the fuck are you talking about? Allie, I don’t have time to argue with you,” Howard growled. “Look, I know you’d rather continue to ignore your problems, but some of us don’t have that luxury. I need your help. I am also fully aware that I don’t deserve it, but this is bigger than us and our inability to be civilized.”

            “What do you need?”

            “Glad you asked. A full-body scan.”

            “Of?”

            “You.”

            “What? Why?”

            He was hauling her none-too-gently off the table, grunting heavily. “I have to deliver… ah… supersoldier serum to an undisclosed location. I need to pretend you’re in the car with me.”

            “I’ve been missing, presumed dead for forty-seven years, and you think people are going to take me randomly showing up in your back seat lightly?”

            “I took care of that three days ago,” he said, dismissing the forty-seven years with a wave of his hand. “You’re back from France, and you took your own version of the serum to keep from aging. I said no to all the welcome back parties.”

            Alexandrina blinked.

            “So, I need a full-body scan.”

            “What the fu-”

            “People… people that I’m delivering this to are going to be expecting you to come with me.”

            “Why?”

            “I… said you were back from France to help me with certain… projects.”

            “Thanks,” she hissed, trotting after him and trying not to think about the fact that, unless she forced someone to put her back into cryo, she would be a middle-aged woman by the time Steve came back. Howard was running downstairs, unexpectedly sprightly for a man his age, and Alexandrina justified her exhausted huffing by remind herself that she’d been still for a very, very long time. “Wait a second.”

            “What?”

            “How do you intend to get a full-body scan?”

            “With an MRI machine…”

            “And what are you gonna do with the scan?”

            “You ask too many goddamn questions.”

            Alexandrina decided to let that go, purely because he was old.

            They arrived in the lab, updated since the last time she had seen it, and Alexandrina saw Howard’s MRI machine sitting at the ready in the corner. Across from it was a box, so large that it took up an entire wall, making all sorts of noises that reminded Alexandrina of a computer printer.

            “Do I have to get in that MRI machine?”

            He rolled his eyes. “I’ll be right outside.”

            Alexandrina balked. “Really? I mean-”

            “You have to get in that to give me the scan. And you had no problem going in the cryo machine.”

            “This is different,” Alexandrina muttered.

            “I’ll talk to you the entire time. Now hurry up and undress; we don’t have a lot of time to get this done.”

            Alexandrina started to say, “Dirty old man,” and then remembered that Howard was her brother.

            _You’ve been out of the game too long,_ she told herself, annoyed, and then heard Lydia’s disgusted voice in her head: _Oh my God, do you have to turn everything into a flirty remark?_ and suddenly missed her friend so badly, she didn’t care if Lydia came back just to nag her for a straight hour, if only she would come back.

            “Allie.”

            She stripped down to her underwear and got in. Howard did indeed talk to her the entire time, so much so that she nearly ruined everything by sitting up and screaming, “SHUT THE FUCK UP!” Howard, perhaps sensing this, stopped talking and got her out of there as quickly as possible. From that point, he fiddled with the images and data that he’d collected while she redressed, and then went over to the huge box and started pressing buttons. The machine’s noises got louder and more complicated, and all of a sudden, it opened up and presented Howard with a life size doll, exactly the size and shape of Alexandrina.

            The real Alexandrina froze with her shirt stuck on her head. “ _Is that a 3D printer_?”

            “Well, I haven’t come up with a name for it yet, but that works,” Howard mused. “Hurry up.”

            Alexandrina finished putting her clothes on. “Was that all you needed?”

            “No,” Howard answered, and they hurried back upstairs, the doll under his arm. They stopped by Alexandrina’s room and grabbed a shirt and pants for the doll. “I need you to go to this address and tell them what I’m doing.” He handed her a piece of paper. “Tell them I’m taking the route we discussed. Have them send backup. And then I want you to get as far away from there as fucking possible. Come back here and hide.”

            “I’m not just gonna sit and wait-”

            “Oh, yes you are,” Howard interrupted. “You have no training and these people want to kill me. Probably you, too, just because you’re my sister.”

            “Howard, you can’t go—change the day or the route or something-” She was chasing after him, following him as he threw a coat on the doll and loaded it and a suitcase in his car.

            “I can’t change anything.”

            “Howard, don’t go-”

            “Why do you care, Allie?” he spat. “You’ve spent the last forty-seven years in cryogenic freeze; every time I tried to wake you up, you called me names and told me you didn’t want to stay awake. You kept giving me some crap about _waiting for Steve,_ who is _dead,_ and the last time I woke you up, you screamed at me for five straight minutes! So what’s so special now?”

            “You’re going to die, Howard,” Alexandrina blurted before she could talk herself out of it. “If you leave tonight, you’ll die. You and Maria will be murdered in that car.”

            “How do you know my wife’s name?”

            “It’s—I—it’s a long story.”

            “Oh, for the love of-”

            “I’m from a different world, Howard.”

            “…That cryo has driven you insane.”

            Alexandrina barely held back her giggles at the look on his face. “No, it hasn’t. Listen, I swear it’s true.” She took a huge breath and started talking, explaining everything as Howard ran from his car to his lab and back again, looking expectantly for his wife all the while. “…And HYDRA is just sitting and waiting for you tonight. They’re going to send… Bucky after you. They turned him into an agent. He’ll kill you tonight if you go.”

            She waited through a horribly long pause as Howard digested this.

            “…Remind me never to go into cryo.”

            “Howard-”

            “ _No!”_ he bellowed, and the hoarse anguish in his voice made her back up a step. “I don’t know why you’re suddenly so keen on acknowledging my existence, but you do not get to wake up and spew some ridiculous story at me that does nothing but fabricate excuses for your behavior! I’m too old for it, Allie! For once in your life, I need you to do what I ask of you and _shut the fuck up,_ because people’s _lives_ are depending on me doing this! I recognize that you lost Steve and Bucky and Lydia and your baby and that it was terrible and that you don’t just get over that! I’m not stupid! Maria miscarried, too and it nearly destroyed our marriage! But instead of accepting the help I offered, _you_ decided to blame me, like you have for everything that’s gone wrong in your life, and sleep for FORTY-SEVEN GODDAMN YEARS! _Who does that?_ ”

            “SOMEONE WHO’S LOST EVERYTHING TWICE!”

            “Well, regardless of how many times you say you’ve lost everything,” Howard snarled, “I know for a fact that you definitely didn’t. You had me. And I know that I in no way can make up for Steve, or your baby, or your best friend, but I am your _brother._ And you know what, I also know that I’m a nag, that I have some ideas about work and family that you think are downright stupid, and that I’m shit at relationships with people—trust me, my wife and son remind me of that every day, when they’re actually around. I know I’ve had a hand in everything you’ve lost. I’m not denying that. I’ve had over forty-seven years to hate myself for it. And maybe what I’ve done is unforgivable, but so is what you’ve done. You’ve given me every last ounce of the burden to bear. You made sure I knew I was at fault and then shut yourself away. Instead of dealing with… whatever may or may not have happened to you in a healthy manner, you ran away for nearly fifty years and left me alone to bear the brunt of everything!” He sighed, picking up a small black case and looking inside; Alexandrina saw several vials and a syringe. “You were so afraid of being alone… but you never were. You had me, but you chose not to care. And I will never understand why. You left _me_ alone, Allie. And I hated it as much as you do.”

            “…Howard… I… I’m sorry…”

            “Howard?” Maria was standing in the doorway, clutching her purse. “We have to go; why is she up?”

            “She’s helping. I’m ready, Marie. Did you hear from Tony?”

            “He’s with some friends—says he’s getting ready to come home-”

            _“Howard!”_ Alexandrina shrieked, and both he and Maria jumped. “Howard, call Tony! Tell him you love him!”

            She got a pair of odd looks. “We just had a huge fight. He’s probably not going to answer.”

            “Then _you_ call him!” Alexandrina shouted, flinging an arm up toward Maria. “Please, Howard. I don’t care if you never believe anything else I said, but please, call your son and tell him you love him!”

            “Listen, honey, you can’t just-”

            “This isn’t about me, it’s about Tony!” she interrupted Maria.

            “Maria… let her have it,” Howard sighed when his wife opened her mouth to retort. She eyed her husband suspiciously, took in his exhausted expression, and went to call Tony.

            “Sweetheart, it’s me. Your father has something to say to you. …I know you don’t, but your aunt told me to call you; she was adamant, so—yes, your aunt. The one who’s been asleep. I don’t know, but we have to hurry. So talk to your father. Do it for me? Yes, good. Thank you.”

            Howard took the phone. “Tony?”

            Alexandrina waited, holding her breath.

            “No, I’m not calling to—oh my God, kid, would you let me talk. I love you!” He rolled his eyes. “No, I don’t want anything. Yes, I’m about to leave. You’re not drinking, are—Tony! Do you at least have someone to take you home? …Then call a cab. What? This is your father and it’s called fatherly concern. I do not want to get home from my trip and hear you died in a car wreck. Please, Tony! Please.” Howard took a huge breath. “I love you, kid, I really do. I know I’m a pain in the ass and a nag and a terrible father, and I’ve got no excuse for that, but you’re my son and I love you… No, you’re absolutely right, it can’t make up for anything, and I’m not trying to. I just… I just love you… You’re going to do great things, Tony. And the good thing about that is you won’t make my mistakes because you know how much of a fuck up I am.” He wiped his eyes. “I love you— _really?_ You do? Well, I haven’t exactly earned it but—okay, okay. Call a damn cab. Get home safe. Yeah, I will too. Bye, Tony. Say goodbye to your mother.”

            Alexandrina covered her face.

            “Happy?” he asked, when Maria had put the phone back. “Just so you know, you’re my sister, and I love you too, but we’re running late, and now I’m gonna have to drive fast, even though I’m old. Do what I told you and then get the hell out of the way.”

            “Howard… I really am sorry.”

            He shot her a look, full of every emotion but forgiveness, as he walked out the door.

 

**Present time**

 

“ _Soldat_ , stop!”

            “Hold on, мышка.”

            Lydia screamed as he veered the bike and ran Howard off the road. The car hit a tree, squealing in protest, and _Soldat_ unstrapped Lydia from his vest and climbed off the bike. Ignoring Lydia’s cries, he punched his metal fist through the trunk and ripped the back of the car apart, pawing through Howard’s things until he found what he was looking for, then tossed it to Lydia. She caught it by reflex.

            “Look away.”

            “ _Soldat_ , _stop_ it!” she screamed, dropping the case as he ripped the back door off and lifted out… a doll. A faceless, hairless doll, dressed in a shirt and pants. Lydia burst into tears.

            “The bitch is probably hiding,” _Soldat_ muttered, tossing it aside.

            Lydia screamed and suddenly ran for him as he ripped the driver’s side door away next, but he easily lifted her off her feet and set her aside.

            “Howard! _Howard_!”

            “Lydia? Lyd-” He was cut short as _Soldat_ dragged him out of the car. Lydia went to her knees. “Wait—Lydia!”

            _Soldat_ froze.

            “Howard, I’m sorry,” Lydia sobbed. “I’m so sorry. I tried, I tried. Please—I didn’t mean for this to happen, but I wasn’t enough-”

            “She was right…” Astonishment appeared on his face, followed closely by horror. “She was right. Oh God, Sergeant Barnes, please-”

            He landed a punch squarely in Howard’s face.

            “B—Bucky…” It was gargled around blood and Howard’s own teeth, and _Soldat_ stopped. He said something; Lydia’s heart stuttered as Howard answered—maybe… just maybe—

            He punched Howard again, three times, one right after the other, and the body slumped. Soldat turned to look at her, saw her hiding her face in her hands, and shifted the body, deliberately away from her. He then went over to the passenger side of the car and slipped his hand in through the open window. Lydia heard Maria call for Howard, but her cry was abruptly cut off.

            “Burn it, мышка.”

            “You… you son of a _bitch_!” she screamed, rushing at him. He didn’t raise his hands, not even to stop the flurry of blows she rained on his chest. He took her slap without so much as an exhale.

            “You’re not going to hurt me.”

            “No, I’m gonna fucking _kill_ you!”

            “No, you’re not. You can’t.”

            “Don’t you tell me what I can and can’t do, James Buchanan Barnes!” she howled furiously, but clapped a hand over her mouth.

            He cocked his head. Lydia burst into miserable, moaning tears, raised her hand, and set the car on fire.

            “You didn’t watch,” _Soldat_ murmured, stepping toward her. “Why?”

            “We need to-”

            “Shut up, мышка,” he spat. She clamped her mouth shut, and for a few seconds, the fire roared behind her. Suddenly, thinking of horrible explosions, she threw out a hand; the smell of burning petrol disappeared. “Why didn’t you watch him die? Why did he call you by your name?”

            Lydia blinked.

            “What name did you call me?”

            “I-”

            “How do you know that man?”

            “He’s… he’s my friend… from a long time ago…”

            “Did you love him?”

            “Yes-” She stopped, blinking. “Oh! God, no, not like that! We were just friends.” She realized the absurdity of what she was doing, justifying herself to her husband who wasn’t really her husband, and snorted.

            He snatched her wrist and pulled her to him; Lydia flinched and he wiped his metal hand on his pants. “You’re _mine,”_ he growled, and she thought she saw a flash of something frantic in his eyes. “I don’t care who you knew or who you loved.” He held the fingers of her left hand in a tight grip. _“Mine.”_

_“Soldat-”_

He picked her up, tossed her over his shoulder, and walked to his motorcycle, ripping a strap off his uniform, then laid her perpendicular on it, and bent her back to tie her hands to the pedal. Lydia, stuck with an upside-down view of a tree trunk, moaned when she felt his hands force her legs open.

            _“Soldat-”_

“Shhh,” he soothed, kissing her ankles. “You want me?”

            _“Soldat,_ please, not here-”

            “It has to be here,” he told her, running his fingers up her leg. “We have no time to get anywhere else.”

            She shivered under his touch, and he undid her pants and pulled them off. She didn’t see him smile as he swiped a finger along her slit and slipped it into his mouth. “So wet already,” he taunted her. “I think you need to be reminded that you belong to me.”

            Lydia groaned. “Pl-please-”

            “You want me to touch you?”

            “Yes!”

            “Good girl,” he murmured, and she heard him kneel.

            “ _Soldat_ -”

            “Hush.” He ran his metal hand down her body. “So soft and sweet… I can see why he loved you.”

            “Damn it, _Soldat_ -”

            He gave her a long, slow lick up her cunt, and she hissed through her teeth, arching, attempting to sit up despite the strap binding her down. “…Mine,” he muttered.

            “Yes-”

            “ _Be quiet_ , мышка.” He put his mouth back on her and thrust his tongue in and out of her, rubbing her hips as he began pleasuring her in earnest. “Now you know who owns this quivering little cunt, don’t you?”

            Lydia closed her eyes, arching toward his mouth, and let the tears fall backwards down her face. She came in a horribly accusing silence, listening to the fire roar around her.

            He drew her orgasm out as long as he could, then stood up and came around to her hands to untie her. “Don’t cry, мышка,” he murmured, helping her up. She reached up to cup his cheeks, and he flipped her easily, slamming her stomach down on the seat of the motorcycle and lifting her ass, ignoring her shriek; he undid his pants, swiped a finger underneath her, and thrust inside.

            Lydia moaned.

            “You… belong… to… _me._ ” Each word was punctuated by a deep thrust, and Lydia’s legs trembled. She gripped the handlebars and he thrust again, then rolled his hips; Lydia screamed and came again, and he followed, growling. When they had both come down, he pulled away from her and flipped her over, pinning her by the throat. “And yet you love him… and you wear another man’s ring on your finger.” He picked up her left hand and ripped her rings off. _“Plus que ma propre vie,”_ he read, his brow furrowing. “If it wasn’t that man, who was it? Who did you love more than your own life, мышка?”

            “No one-”

            “Don’t lie!”

            “…He’s… he’s dead.”

            “…Was he your husband, then?”

            “Yes.”

            _Soldat’s_ hand left her throat. “I… I’m sorry.”

            “God, don’t-”

            “I care for you,” he told her, cupping her cheek. “But… I am not this man. I am a monster. And for that… I am sorry.”

They arrived back at headquarters and were greeted by total silence. _Soldat_ kept an arm around Lydia as they both walked up to Pierce’s office.

            “The mission is complete,” _Soldat_ informed Pierce when he opened the door. With her hands shaking, Lydia offered him the case.

            “It is indeed,” Pierce answered with a satisfied smile. “But you left a witness.”

            They blinked.                       

            Pierce pressed a button. “Bring her in.”

            Lydia’s heart sank.

            “Goddammit, get your hands off me!” Alexandrina screamed as two agents dragged her in. She had two black eyes, a gash down one cheek, and was covered in bruises and open wounds. “I’m not telling you—oh my God.” She burst into tears. “Lydia… Bucky…”

            _Soldat_ made a face.

            “What the _fuck_ , Drina?” Lydia blurted incredulously.

            “I followed the car,” she muttered, sheepish.

            “Like the stupid bitch you are,” Pierce gloated.

            “You let her go!” Lydia shrieked, raising her hands.

            Pierce snapped her cuff back on. “You’ll have to be punished for botching your mission,” he informed them, and Lydia flinched.

            “I accept my punishment,” _Soldat_ intoned.

            “Oh no, it’s not yours,” Pierce contradicted him, laughing. “I applaud your enthusiasm, but this is Lydia’s friend, so this is Lydia’s punishment.”

            _Soldat_ straightened. “Then I will take her punishment for her.”

            “No!” Both Lydia and Alexandrina had spoken at once.

            “Shut up.” Pierce turned to _Soldat_ , contemplating him thoughtfully. “You must truly love her.”

            “…Yes.”

            “Then-” He froze, eyes wide; Lydia had drawn the biggest, most lethal-looking knife out of _Soldat’s_ armor, and in one furious swipe, she brought it down on the hand with the cuff. Blood spurted all over Pierce’s desk, and Lydia’s hand reappeared, now without a cuff; she shot a jet of white light at Alexandrina, who disappeared.

            _Soldat_ brought his arm back and punched Pierce hard enough to knock him unconscious. “мышка, you have to go.”

            “What?”

            “The target gave me an address,” he told her, ignoring her shocked expression. “It’s somewhere you can go and be safe.”

            “I can’t leave you!”

            “Yes, you can,” he whispered, and cradled her cheeks in his hands. “You need to. You have to. You will not survive here. I cannot protect you.”

            “But-”

            “Hush, мышка.” He gave her the address, repeating it three times, and then kissed her forehead, her eyelids, her cheeks, her lips. “It’s all right. I’ll be all right.”

            “He’ll destroy you,” she sobbed.

            “Then I deserve it.”

            “No,” she whined. “I can’t—I need you. Please. Please, Bucky, please don’t make me go.”

            “…Why do you call me ‘Bucky’, мышка?”

            “Because… your name is James Buchanan Barnes. _You’re_ my husband… you’re the man I love more than my own life, and I need you.”

            His lip turned up in amusement. “If you say so.”

            “I do. Come with me.”

            “No. I want you safe. If I go, he will tear the world apart looking for me. You… you make him angry.” He smirked. “Magic or not, he will be glad you’re gone… but he still needs me.” He wiped the tears tenderly from her cheeks. “Go now. Before he wakes.”

            She sobbed, clutching his vest. Firmly, he peeled her hands away and then kissed her fingers. “я тебя люблю. Помнить.” _(I love you. Remember)_

“Was that really necessary, Soldier?” Pierce shifted his ice pack, and groaned.

            “I apologize.”

            Pierce waited.

            “…I apologize, Sasha.”

            “Good boy,” Pierce purred. “You’ve kept your end of the bargain… so far. I will keep mine. She will not be touched.” He sighed and turned to the agents waiting at the door. “Wipe him. And for shit’s sake, do it right this time.”


	25. Pas du Tout A

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A/N: LOOK GUYS, IT’S PART FOUR! The final part! Well, and an epilogue, but that’s only a teeny bit, so… only a few chapters left! Well, I say a few, but part 4 kinda took up the majority of a whole notebook, so. Oops.
> 
> A/N: This section covers WS, a bit of AOU, and CW, so there’s a lot. It moves fast. Things also change a bit from the MCU, but as I’ve said, I tried to keep things as close as possible while making sure they still fit into the story and don’t compromise the characters.
> 
> WARNINGS: Swearing, mention of suicidal thoughts. Reunion, though!

**May, 2011**

Twenty years after Howard’s death and her torture at the hands of HYDRA, Alexandrina could not fail notice that she had only aged about two years. Aside from a couple of random white hairs, she showed no signs of getting order, and had plenty of time to reflect on the fact that her best excuse for avoiding all of her issues was utter bullshit, probably due to the simple, and bitterly hilarious fact that she had exchanged bodily fluids with Steve once, sixty-seven years ago.

            Rather than think about the implications of that, she gave herself other excuses. In the time between 1991 and 2011, she had gotten to know Tony, helped him to run Stark Industries, started to develop a memory-boosting serum, and in general, avoided getting close to anyone but Tony. Time had crawled, and she soon became tired of waiting.                                                                                                                     

            Lydia had not contacted her once in twenty years, and although she was incredibly hurt by that, she knew that Lydia was probably attempting to keep her safe, and knew that she was now working with SHIELD as one of their top spies. The sight of her best friend, once so whole and healthy, in HYDRA’s clutches, underweight and with dark circles under her eyes, standing meek and vulnerable next to the weaponized monster who had once been her sweet, dorky husband, still haunted Alexandrina to this day.

            In 1995, however, Natasha Romanoff had come along, and the two formed a close bond, so close that Nat had shared with Alexandrina what she jokingly referred to as her deepest, darkest secret: her trademark red hair was dyed. Her reasoning for the dye job ran along the lines of, “I look absolutely terrifying with my natural hair, and I’m supposed to entice men, not scare them away.”

            Despite Nat wanting her to, Alexandrina had decided not to join in on the New Year’s Eve parties meant to bring in 2011, too preoccupied with what this year would bring her. _What am I supposed to do and say when Steve comes back? What will it be like? Will he still love me and want to marry me? What if I’m not enough for him again?_

The idea of attempting to keep him from “jumping back in and following orders” had most definitely occurred to her, and though she tried to shove it away, knowing it was utterly disgusting and selfish, it kept returning. If she was honest with herself, and the Lydia-like voice in her head told her she needed to be, Alexandrina just went ahead and told herself that it was _her goddamn turn_. She’d been brought here with barely a warning and against her will, forced again and again by Howard into constraining gender roles of the time that did not agree with her (she should at least be allowed to _think_ while she wore pretty dresses and played the adoring sister, damn it), she had lost the man she loved and the chance to make a home with him to his own hero complex and stubborn bravery, had lost her best friend once when she stopped giving a crap about Alexandrina and instead become preoccupied with her husband, and then once more to HYDRA, had miscarried her child and finally, had lost Howard, who despite everything they had done to each other, had loved her deeply and, in the end, was her brother.

            If she was honest with herself, she had to say, she was through giving a fuck.

            “Miss Stark?” It was the secretary of Stark Industries, paging her. “Director Fury called for you. He says he needs to talk to you immediately, and that it’s urgent you get down to SHIELD right now.”

           

Twenty years of attempting to convince Nicholas Fucking Fury that his best friend forever Alexander Goddamn Shithole Pierce was actually HYDRA had been fruitless. Countless background checks, surprise searches, and invasion of known HYDRA facilities had turned up nothing. Nick still trusted Lydia, sill thought she was an excellent spy, and kept her on, but Lydia could tell that he was finally losing faith in her. When she had joined HYDRA in 1992, after turning up sick and anguished on Nick’s doorstep, she’d risen quickly through the ranks and established herself as SHIELD’s best agent, despite the one rankling area of disagreement with Nick. Known by the name of Agent Little Mouse, she led mission after mission, taking risk after risk, and came to understand, after years of doing so, that she was constantly, deliberately, attempting to commit suicide.

            If she was honest with herself, a large part of her had stopped caring about being alive. She’d been dragged to this time and place by a malicious organization to be used and abused at their whims, and by the time she had known that, it was too late to do anything about it. She’d lost her friends, her family, the life she had worked so hard to build for herself, and still mourned it, even though it had been a mess when she’d disappeared. She’d had to realized that everything she believed about herself, all the personality traits she’d thought were set in stone, were completely false once she’d looked into the eyes of a man she knew she was going to lose, and chose to be with him anyway. She’d watched him leave and change, almost never by his own choice, been blamed for her circumstances by her only friend, and coincidentally, the only person who shared them, seen her husband transformed into a mindless, murdering weapon, and she had been completely broken, not by HYDRA’s hands, but his.

            She’d shunned any contact with the only friend she had left, because the idea of what had been done to her in their absence that night terrified her to this day. Lydia had consequently reshaped herself into a stone-cold killer only to save her sanity, and grew more and more tired of it by the day, because it couldn’t change the fact that she was indeed to be blamed for every little thing that had happened since they had arrived.

            If she was honest with herself, she had to say, she wanted to die.

 

“Miss Stark… we’ve been dealing with a delicate situation.” Nicholas Fury folded his hands on his desk and looked her over. “We found Captain Steven Rogers frozen in ice a week ago. He… he’s alive. Functioning. He hasn’t aged. Much like yourself.”

            “You found him a week ago and you’re just telling me now?”

            “He’s just starting to acclimate, Miss Stark, we couldn’t just-”

            “When can I see him?”

            “Soon, if you let me-”

            “Okay, then let’s go!”

            “Miss Stark, wait!” Fury yanked her back from the door. “You need to go down there calmly and not overwhelm him-”

            “I know, I know, new time period!” Alexandrina snapped. “Now, if you will excuse me, I have been waiting for my husband for sixty-seven years, so get out of my way!”

            “It’s not just about… you.”

            Fury sighed, walking calmly after her as she pelted through the hallways.

            “STEVE!” Alexandrina skidded past a blonde agent walking in the opposite direction. “STEVE!”

            “Are you looking for Captain Rogers?” the agent called after her, speaking in a posh British accent. “He’s this way. I’ll take you to him.”

            “Thank you!” The phrase exploded out of Alexandrina in a relieved sigh, and she followed the blonde down a couple more hallways and to a door, slightly ajar. When the agent pushed it all the way open, Alexandrina saw Steve, wearing a tight white T-shirt and khaki pants, curiously poking buttons on a laptop.

            “Hey, Mouse, how do you-” He stopped.

            “Steve…?”

            Steve set the laptop to the side, ignoring it when it fell off the bed and onto the floor. “…Who are you?”

            “Steve… it’s me. It’s Drina.”

            “You can’t be her. She would be old.”

            “I was in cryo for forty-seven years and I haven’t really aged since I woke up in 1991.”

            Steve’s face began at utterly confused, and by the time she stopped speaking, was at realization. “…Drina…?”

            The blonde agent pressed cold glasses of water into their hands; Drina jumped.

            “How…? What-”

            “It’s a long story, Steve, and… I just want you to hug me right now.”

            He got up off the bed, stumbling a little, and took two steps before leaning forward and throwing his arms around her, hanging on when she rocked backward. “It’s you… it’s you… you’re real!”

            “Of course I’m real,” Drina answered, and promptly, started to cry. Steve was here; he looked the same, smelled the same, felt the same… and Drina abruptly stiffened. He _was_ the same.

            She was not.

            “How are you… how are you getting along?” she asked, trying to distract herself.

            “Ah… fine, I guess,” he responded, giving the abandoned laptop a cursory glance. “Was all this stuff odd for you when you woke up, too?”

            “Uh, yeah.” Alexandrina turned a dull red.

            “Why were you in cryo, Drina?”

            All the oxygen left her at once. She pulled away from Steve as though he had suddenly struck her, sickened by his touch. “I… I don’t want to talk about it.”

            “Drina-”

            “Who was that woman in here a minute ago?”

            He paused, eyeing her for another few seconds before deciding it was in his best interests to let it go. “That’s Agent Little Mouse. Well, that’s not her actual name, just her moniker. She’s pretty ni—Drina?”

            “I’ll be right back.” She was up and out the door before he could protest. “Agent Little Mouse!” she called, running back down the hallway. “Agent Little Mouse!”

            “Yes? Is Captain Rogers all right?”

            “Don’t give me that bullshit.” Drina took a deep breath. “Where did you get your name?”

            “It’s supposed to be a bit of a misnomer.” The agent blinked. “Why do you-”

            “I know why you chose it. He gave you that name, didn’t he? He called you Little Mouse… but in Russian.” She bit back a sob. “Bucky couldn’t remember your name, and you couldn’t tell him, so he gave you one.”

            “Miss-”

            “Lydia, _stop_!”

            The agent froze, and then, tentatively, began to morph. Blonde hair became black, the agent’s innocent-looking face regained its slightly harsher angles, she grew a couple of inches, and finally, Drina saw Lydia standing in front of her.

            “…I haven’t been called by that name by someone I loved in sixty-seven years.”

            “Does Fury know the details?”

            “Only what I choose to tell him. And he doesn’t know anything about me and Bucky.”

            “If you love me… why didn’t you come see me?” Drina gnawed at her lip, trying to slow her words, but they came unbidden. “You never came, you never called, you never sent a letter—you didn’t do anything!”

            “Drina, I didn’t-”

            “Yeah, you didn’t! You were supposed to be my friend! Howard died and you were all I had! And you didn’t bother because you didn’t _care_!”

            “That’s not true!” Lydia screamed, her face rapidly reddening. “I was trying to protect you! They’d already tortured you once; I didn’t want Pierce getting near you again!”

            “I live in Stark fucking Tower, which is the most secure place on the planet-”

            “You really think that matters to someone who will go to any lengths to get what he wants? Pierce doesn’t give a flying fuck!”

            “You still could have-”

            “I’D ALREADY LOST ENOUGH!” Lydia bellowed, and then, realizing what she’d done, clapped a hand over her mouth.

            Steve poked his head out. “Drina, what the-”

            She shook her head.

            His jaw dropped, painfully slowly, and Lydia braced herself. “My God… Lydia… is that really you?” He was coming toward her, almost gliding, his expression hazy. “You’re… Jesus, you’re _real.”_

Lydia burst into tears, and Steve rushed to her, crushing her in a hug.

            “How—how are you—you know what, I’m not even going to ask. I’m just so glad to see you.”

            “I’m glad to see you too, Steve.” Lydia let him continue to hug her when she felt his shoulders briefly shake.

            “Steve?”

            He rebalanced, pulling away from Lydia, then offered both the girls a small smile. “Sorry. I just—it’s-”

            “Like having Bucky back,” Lydia finished, wincing horribly.

            Alexandrina flinched; Steve smiled miserably and went back to her, wrapping an arm securely around her shoulders.

            Only Lydia saw the trace of disgust in her eyes.


	26. Pas du Tout B

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: Swearing, discussion of a miscarriage and the aftereffects, angst. I think it ends on a hopeful note, though? Maybe?

**Two days later**

When the doorbell rang, Steve opened it almost immediately, but his enthusiastic greeting died on his lips when he saw Fury standing just behind Lydia. “Are… are you here to talk to Drina?”

            “No,” Fury answered. “We’re here to talk to you and Tony.”

            “Nicholas-”

            “We’ve got a couple more on the way here,” Fury barked over Lydia’s interruption.

            “What… what do you wanna talk about?”

            “The Avengers Initiative.” Fury’s gaze swung to Drina and Tony, both of them having just appeared disheveled and covered in soot.

            _“Fury-”_

“Um… hi,” Alexandrina said awkwardly, avoiding Lydia’s eye. “Do you guys want to come in? Have something to drink?”

            “Yeah, thanks,” Fury acknowledged, walking past Lydia into the dining room.

            “Who else is coming?”

            The doorbell rang.

            “Them.” Fury answered the door, ignoring Lydia’s snarling at his continued dismissals of her. Standing on the doorstep were Natasha Romanoff and Clint Barton. “This the place?” Clint asked.

            “It is.”

            Alexandrina looked at Lydia, and Lydia rolled her eyes toward Tony; Alexandrina bit her lip, shaking her head at her friend.

            “You…”

            Lydia caught sight of Natasha, who was staring at her, and they both froze.

            “I… I know you…” Natasha whispered, and Fury turned in the middle of a conversation with Tony. Steve, who was now digging in the fridge for drinks, thankfully didn’t notice. “I… I remember you. Your name is… мышка.”

            Fury put his glass down.

            “Because… because you squeak,” Nat continued, but froze at the sight of Fury, who was pulling a gun from his coat. “You were… you… were you a whore?” she stammered, and at Lydia’s destroyed expression, she flinched and clenched her fists nervously. “I didn’t mean it—not like that—I just mean-”

            “That’s what they made me.”

            By now, Tony, Steve, Clint, Alexandrina, and Fury were all staring; Lydia ignored them.

            “Do you… still have your magic?”

            Lydia presented Natasha with a closed fist, and then opened it. The familiar tongue of flame danced in her palm, and Natasha smiled.

            “How the hell do you two know each other?” Fury suddenly spat, cocking his gun and addressing Lydia. “You told me you’d been kidnapped. You’ve been working with us for nineteen years and now you’re telling me you were working with them? That you’re HYDRA?”

             She knocked the gun away and backhanded him with her left hand; her emerald ring left a small gash in his cheek. “You’re damn right I’ve been working with you for nineteen years,” she snapped. “And I am sick of you dismissing me, Fury! I’ve tried to tell you what I think about… the Avengers Initiative, and you don’t care! You’ve been bitching at me and ignoring me for weeks, and I’m tired of it!”

            “I happen to think that the Initiative is going to work, and that everyone here is a fine addition to the team!”

            “Well, I don’t, and if you don’t listen to me-”

            “I have listened to you, and now I’m starting to think that was a mistake!”

            “Why did you bring me here if I hold no value to you?”

            “It’s not that you hold no value; that’s a HYDRA mindset, and you would know all about that, wouldn’t you?”

            “Jesus, Nick-” Natasha was overridden.

            “You showed up on my doorstep bleeding and bruised twenty years ago and didn’t tell me anything about yourself; just asked me to let you join SHIELD, and I did, because you told me you’d been kidnapped and tortured and said you had no links to anything, and now you’re telling me that you knew Natasha Romanoff, which is only something you could do if you were working with the KGB! Why don’t you tell me the goddamn truth instead of trying to keep me from putting together the team?”

            “I’m not trying to-”

            “Who are you working for?”

            “YOU!” Lydia bellowed. “No one else! Natasha is technically right; I was a goddamn whore for forty-seven years!”

            “OKAY, THAT’S ENOUGH!” Alexandrina bellowed. “Seriously, Fury, what are you doing here? Why are all these people in my house?”

            Steve was looking wide-eyed from person to person; Fury, at least, ignored everyone else and began. Bruce Banner showed up just in time to chow down on a pizza and hear the end of Fury’s talk on the Avengers Initiative. “I was going to assign Agent… well, whoever the fuck you think you are… to manage this, but then I learned that you might be HYDRA, so, I don’t think that’s gonna fuckin’ happen.”

            “If I was HYDRA, Fury, would I continually tell you that Alexander Pierce is the director of that organization?”

            Fury inhaled.

            “You want the truth? My real name is Lydia Barnes. My husband was James Buchanan Barnes, sergeant of the 107th Infantry and member of the Howling Commandos. HYDRA murdered my husband sixty-seven years ago, and then kidnapped me because of what I could do. When I wasn’t forced out on a mission, I was put in cryofreeze. I escaped. I want everyone in HYDRA dead. They took my husband from me. They turned me into a… a hole—to be used.” Her face was growing whiter with every word. “They destroyed everything I held dear. And you, you worthless piece of shit, have no right to equate me with them, not after the way you found me, not after everything I’ve done for you, so shove it up your ass, Nick.” She winced, but then nodded. “Yeah. Shove it up your ass.”

            The room was oppressively silent.

            “Do you… do you still want to manage the Avengers with me?” Fury asked after a second.

            “Yes.” It might as well have been _fuck you._

“That’s about as much of an apology as you’re ever going to get from him,” Natasha quipped, her lips curling upward in a lopsided smirk.

            Alexandrina blinked at it.

            “So this, uh… Avengers thing?” Tony squeaked.

 

Lydia wasn’t the only one who was aware that something was going on between Steve and Alexandrina now; everyone who worked at the complex, either as an Avenger or a SHIELD agent, couldn’t help but notice it… especially since Tony was involved.

            When Alexandrina wasn’t upstairs, cooking or cleaning or hanging out with everyone else but Steve, she was upstairs, in Tony’s lab, either helping him build suits or shouting at him. Their fights were something of a living legend in the complex, and had once resulted in an actual explosion in the lab. Fury, who had already dealt with Tony on many instances and knew other agents who had once dealt with Howard, put it down to Starks being Starks. Lydia, who paid the most attention to Steve’s moods and was fully aware that Alexandrina was doing everything she could to avoid him, decided after the most recent fight (which took place at two o’clock in the morning) to talk to Alexandrina, regardless of whether or not she wanted to listen.

            She found her quarry reading in a bedroom, and sat down on the bed with no preamble. “You want to tell me what’s going on with you and Steve? Or rather, what’s not going on?”

            Alexandrina lowered the book. “If this is about me talking to Tony, you should know that I’m not going to-”

            “Did you not just hear me? This isn’t about Tony,” Lydia interrupted, rolling her eyes. “I am fully aware by know that Tony is an issue and he’s going to make problems for us no matter what we do. No, this is about Steve. I want to know why you’ve barely interacted with him since he came back. You’ve been engaged since 1944, Drina. I would think you’d be jumping at the chance to get married, think about a family-”

            “He doesn’t want that,” Alexandrina muttered.

            “Are we really going to go through this whole goddamn thing again or are you going to tell me what’s really going on here?”

            “Lydia-”

            “Drina, whatever you’re doing with… with this… is complete bullshit and I think you know that,” Lydia overrode her. “And you know what? I don’t give a fuck if you don’t want to hear what I have to say. I heard from three different people in five minutes that you apparently spent forty-seven years in cryofreeze. Which is _ridiculous_. And now you are doing nothing but actively avoiding the man you’ve been engaged to for close to sixty-seven years, when, last I checked, you were nagging the hell out of him to stay with you!”

            “Maybe I’m tired of nagging him!” Alexandrina burst out. “Maybe I’ve just given up!”

            “Maybe you need to find a different excuse!” Lydia shot back. “I know I haven’t been around much, but from what I’m hearing, you’re acting completely idiotic, not at all like the friend I knew before all this shit started, and the last time my friend was this stupid was when she was a damn _teenager_ -”

            “That’s _not_ -”

            “The man you are engaged to is right HERE!” Lydia ended it on a bellow, and Alexandrina jumped. “You know as well as I do that we can’t change shit, so you can’t stop him going back to being Captain America. I think your excuses are old and worn out, and the person you are supposed to be in love with is right in front of you, and he needs you and he _remembers_ you-”

            “This isn’t about _you_!”

            “ _That’s_ rich-”

            “I _miscarried_ , Lydia!” Alexandrina screamed, and was met with a horrible silence. “I got pregnant with Steve’s baby and I lost it at his funeral!”

            “…And you blame me.” He was standing in the doorway, and stepped aside so a stricken Lydia could leave. “You think it’s my fault because I… died.”

            “…You should have been there.”

            “Why didn’t you just tell me?”

            “I found out I was pregnant after you left, and I… I couldn’t just say, ‘Hi, haven’t seen you for sixty-seven years, I miscarried our kid,’… and you know what, you shouldn’t have left at all back then! All I wanted was a home and a family with you! I tried every goddamn way I could think of to get you to stay with me and nothing worked! I wasn’t enough! Oh God, why wasn’t I enough?” She covered her face, overwhelmed by tears.

            “It wasn’t that you weren’t enough-”

            “That’s the only reason there could be! I wasn’t enough for you, Steve! I lost my baby and you and Howard and Lydia and Bucky because I couldn’t just make you stay-”

            “I was an able-bodied male, Drina; at the end of the day, I couldn’t have stayed with you. I could have been arrested and jailed for dodging the draft—or worse-”

            “I LOST MY BABY BECAUSE YOU WERE TOO SELF-CENTERED TO GET ANYTHING I WAS TRYING TO TELL YOU!” Alexandrina roared. “God, Steve, I lost it at your _funeral_! In front of hundreds of people—TV cameras—and you weren’t there! Nobody was! Just Howard, and he insisted on having the damn thing in the first place. I wasn’t enough for _anybody_ —not you, not Bucky or Lydia, not even my own baby-”

            “Why the hell do you think this is about you being enough? Drina, it wasn’t up to you to save anyone-”

            “YES, IT WAS! I KNEW EVERYTHING THAT WAS GOING TO HAPPEN-” She stopped herself, clapping a hand over her mouth.

            “…What?”

            “I knew everything,” she stammered, suddenly quiet, her voice cracking. “I knew it all. We both did. I’m from a different world, Steve. Where I’m from, you only exist in books and movies. You and Bucky… Howard, Nat, Clint, Tony, everyone… you’re all fictional characters. From the second we got here, Lydia and I knew who you were… and we knew what was going to happen to you.”

            Steve sank into a chair.

            “It _was_ up to me to-”

            “Stop talking, Drina.”

            She shut her mouth.

            “What… what are you?”

            “I don’t know,” she answered, her shoulders slumping. “We didn’t appear here on purpose. I have no idea how or why we came here. We just… popped here on the day of the Stark Expo. I knew as soon as I saw you that I had to try and save you. I loved you from the second I met you, and as I got to know you, I only loved you more. I did everything I could to try and stop you from going into the ice. All I wanted was a life with you. A family. The chance to grow old with you. And none of it happened. I couldn’t save you. I wasn’t enough.”

            “…Why didn’t you tell me?”

            “Would you have believed me?”

            The corner of Steve’s mouth turned up in a wry smirk. “Nah… definitely not.” His face fell. “Why didn’t you tell me what happened to the baby? You’ve been avoiding me for weeks. You’ve barely looked at me. All I’ve wanted to do since I got back was marry you and— _why_ did you not tell me? Really?”

            “…I thought you would blame me.”

            Steve looked as though she had stabbed him. “ _What_?”

            “I thought-” Alexandrina cringed at the look on his face. “I thought you would blame me for… not being enough. I wasn’t enough. I couldn’t take care of our baby. I as good as-”

            “ _Don’t you dare_ ,” Steve whispered. Alexandrina flinched as though he had shouted. “ _None_ of this was _ever_ about you being enough. Not for me, not for the baby, not for Lydia, Bucky, Howard—anybody. You said yourself you had no idea how or why you came here. No one came to you and asked you to show up here and help any of us. You were brought here against your will. All of that crap about being enough is in your own head; I _never_ would have put any of the pressure on you that you’re putting on yourself. I think you know that. I hope you do. And… the baby was not your fault. Sometimes, those things just happen. And you weren’t ready for a baby then, Drina. You’re not the kind of woman who would want to raise a child alone—and we both know that Howard didn’t technically count. He wasn’t a family man, not really. You weren’t ready, and our child knew that.”

            “…All I wanted was a family,” Alexandrina whined, appalled at the sound of herself.

            “I know,” Steve told her. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. You deserved so much better.”

            “ _That’s_ not your fault,” Alexandrina contradicted him, and broke down sobbing.

            Steve reached out to take her into his arms, but she covered her face and jerked away. Steve froze, clenching his fists. “I’m sorry—I—I-”

            “It’s okay,” Alexandrina soothed, wiping her face. “I just… I don’t want to be touched right now.”

            Steve went a shade paler; Alexandrina noticed and tried to smirk, but failed. “We can… wait until whenever you want to… get married, I mean,” he told her.

            “Okay.” She blinked. “You don’t want to get married in a church, do you?”

            “Nah,” Steve answered. “A courthouse is fine. I’ll get you a nice dress, some popcorn instead of a cake… we can throw a party back here if Tony’s okay with it…”

            “Tony will totally be okay with it,” Alexandrina muttered, grinning.

            “Oh God, it won’t be anything too big, will it?”

            Alexandrina gave him a look. Steve groaned.


	27. Pas du Tout C

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: Argument, Tony is Tony, shooting, blood, hospitals, cranky Fury, a somewhat sad conversation between Lydia and Nat, swearing

**2014**

 

The giggling, loud laughter, and screaming could go on well into the night if Lydia and Natasha started drinking late enough. More often than not, Alexandrina would join them, but none of the men were allowed. Usually, they drank straight vodka, tequila, or whisky, with a few colorful martinis thrown in (Lydia was rather good at mixing them), and got as drunk as they could as fast as they could.

            A few days after the fight between Alexandrina and Steve, Lydia moved into the Avengers complex permanently. Both she and Alexandrina had fended off Steve’s eager, well-meant questions about their old home; neither of them had wanted to deal with the implications of being gone for sixty-seven years. Lydia had also stopped Steve’s attempts at sympathy when he realized what she had known, keeping her primary thought—I don’t deserve any of that—to herself.

            Lydia and Natasha had grown very close; their shared pasts in the KGB gave them a bond that no one else could have. Whenever they did have a drinking session, they tried to keep it lighthearted, and tonight was no exception. Alexandrina joined them after they polished off a bottle of vodka, still sporting soot from the wreck of Tony’s latest project, and they played drinking games until three in the morning.

            The next afternoon, Fury wrecked his car.

            The phone rang while Lydia was going over paperwork; Steve was downstairs working out, Bruce and Tony were at a science convention that reminded Lydia blatantly of the Big Bang Theory, and Natasha was ominously cleaning her weapons in the living room. Lydia heard her swear, pick up the phone, and after a minute, swear again. “FURY IS IN THE HOSPITAL!”

            Lydia stood up so fast, her chair tipped backward. “WHAT HAPPENED?”

            “HE CRASHED HIS CAR!” Lydia came running in, and Natasha stared at her. “They’re saying it looked like someone set him up. He got shot at, and some SHIELD agent said the driver’s side door was ripped cleanly off.”

            Lydia moaned and headed for the front door, Natasha close on her heels. When they got to the hospital, the agents around them were livid, Fury was getting operated on, and Lydia called Steve as soon as she could stand still. Feigning hunger, Lydia went down to the cafeteria alone.

            _It would be a stupid idea to tell anyone right now,_ she reasoned. _Even if I did, things would probably still happen the same way. Pierce would still find a way to blacklist Steve, Steve would still come face-to-face with Bucky—if I told him now, I’d only save him the shock, and Rumlow and his goonies will still get a hold of him. Fury won’t help; he’s too fresh off the car wreck and SHIELD and HYDRA will still probably go down in flames, and Fury will still have to go into hiding until the rest of the world isn’t so pissed off._

“Lydia?”

            She jumped.

            “Sorry,” Natasha said quickly, sitting down by her. “I thought you said you were hungry. Didn’t you buy anything?”

            “I forgot my purse.” Lydia shrugged.

            Natasha dug in her own purse. “What do you want?”

            “Oh, you don’t have to-”

            “Forget it,” she interrupted. “I’m hungry too. What do you want?”

            “Ah… just a soda and one of those chocolate cupcakes.”

            Natasha bought the food and came back over. “…You’re thinking about him again, aren’t you?”

            Lydia raised her head.

            “Whenever you think about him, you get this… unique look on your face,” she explained. “It’s somewhere between… dangerously angry, desperately sad, and completely empty.” She shrugged. “That’s the closest I can come to describing it, anyway.”

            “Me and my glass face,” Lydia quipped with the hint of a wry smile. “I’m a horrible spy, aren’t I?”

            “Not at all,” Natasha soothed. “If you were, you wouldn’t be what you are to SHIELD—Fury’s current assholishness aside. You just… you loved him. And he loved you.” She took a deep breath. “You really… made an impression on me. How you both… found light in that darkness.” Her face contorted. “Good God, that sounds sappy-”

            “It’s not,” Lydia reassured her. “Maybe a little cliché, but… it’s true. We were all each other had, and they knew it… and they used it. I was the lion tamer… until Pierce took over the circus.”

            Natasha snarled. “That man is a grade-A son of a bitch.”

            Lydia snorted. “He punched Pierce, you know.”

            “ _He_ _did_?”

            “Right after we got back from… a mission. He punched Pierce and told me to leave. He made me go.”

            “But how did you get out with your cuff on?” She absentmindedly touched her wrist, and so did Lydia, remembering how it felt to have her magic restricted.

            “I cut my hand off.”

            “Holy _shit_.”

            “Yeah… you know, it was pretty disgusting. I’m sure I left some permanent stains on Pierce’s carpet.”

            They both smirked at the same time.

            “I hate to think of what happened to him after I left,” Lydia murmured.

            “…He forgot you,” Natasha whispered, her face rapidly whitening. “I asked where you were the next time I saw you, and he said he didn’t know who мышка was.”

 

“TONY! TONY STARK!”

            “What the-” Steve and Lydia were nearly bowled over by Tony striding through the hallway, clearly on the run from Alexandrina, who was right on his heels. They hit the elevators as fast as they could and promptly put three floors between themselves and the impending explosion.

            “TONY!”

            “AUNT DRINA, PLEASE!”

            “YOU CAN’T DO THIS!”

            “YES, I CAN!”

            “That doesn’t mean you should,” she responded, huffing as she attempted to keep up with him.

            “Yeah, well, I have to.”

            “No, you don’t,” Alexandrina snapped, and pinned him in a corner.

            “Yes, I do! You don’t understand—the attack on New York could happen again-”

            “And you think you could magically stop that?”

            “I have to try!”

            “What the fuck makes you think you’re the only one that can save the world? I had that same problem, Tony, and it didn’t work out well for me! Besides, the world isn’t yours to save in the first place! And you have a _team_ -”

            “Yeah, and if any of them knew what I wanted to do, they would tell me no-”

            “You’re damn right they would, because it’s forced military occupation of the entire goddamn world! And what if the thing becomes sentient?”

            “That’s not going to happen,” Tony scoffed. “I know how to work with AI-”

            “You remind me so much of your father sometimes,” Alexandrina sighed. “So fucking arrogant, always thinking you know what’s best for everyone else-”

            “Nobody else knows what’s coming!”

            “I do,” she contradicted. “Don’t ask me how, but I do. I know. But that doesn’t mean you should go off and build that AI, Tony. Your father never would have-”

            “Oh, yes, he would have, and besides, he wanted me to do something great! It was the last thing he said to me!”

            “You are doing something great. My God, Tony, you’re _Iron_ _Man_! You built Stark Industries!”

            “Isn’t the purpose of Iron Man and Stark Industries to better the world?”

            “You’ve already done that!”

            “Well, I shouldn’t just stop! My father wouldn’t have stopped me—he experimented on a human being, for Christ’s sake!”

            “And he got _lucky,”_ Alexandrina hissed. “Besides, these things are entirely different. Steve had no chance at a fulfilling life. He told me when I met him that he would probably be dead by thirty, thirty-five at the most. The serum could have killed him, but he was going to die anyway. And you know what else— _do you know what fucking else, Tony_? Steve gave your father and Dr. Erskine his consent to receive that serum. Verbally and in writing, multiple times. The legal hoops were endless, and neither of them skipped _one_. What you’re doing would be carried out without anyone’s consent—do you want to try and get the consent of the entire world? Because that’s what you would have to do. And this is bordering on illegal! Jesus, Tony, this is what HYDRA wants—to keep their eyes on literally everyone!”

            “Don’t you dare compare me to those monsters!”

            “You really think they wouldn’t commit any act humanely possible to get their hands on the kind of tech you want to build? That they wouldn’t corrupt it as soon as they got their hands on it?”

            “I wouldn’t let them-”

            “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!” Alexandrina screamed, and Tony’s eyes widened at her. “When are you going to learn, Tony? You are not supposed to magically save the world with a sweep of your hand! You are not a god! You are not infallible! You don’t have to make up for anything!”

            “Well, you’re wrong about that,” Tony muttered, turning his back on her and slamming the door in her face before she could follow.

           

After Fury got out of the hospital for the first time, he asked Lydia to go see Sharon Carter on the night he planned to talk to Steve. Lydia didn’t question; she simply bought a gallon of chocolate ice cream and snuck over, hoping to not attract Steve’s attention, as he was currently moving the last of his things into the apartment that SHIELD had given him and Alexandrina.

            “So how are things? I mean, I know you must be busy…” _What is going on?_

“Well, things are a mess at SHIELD right now, I’m exhausted, everyone’s exhausted, everyone, especially Fury, is dead on his feet. I’m not sure what he wants me to do about it, though.” _Fury knows his life is in danger. He wanted me around, but I’m not sure why; he won’t let me protect him like I want to._

“No magical solutions to everyone’s problems, then?”

            Lydia shook her head and passed Sharon a bowl of ice cream. She set it down and dug around for a DVD to put on.

            _SHIELD is compromised?_ It was a note, written on a post-it and stuck to the front of a case.

            Lydia nodded.

            _Pierce?_ Sharon mouthed.

            Lydia stuck her spoon in her mouth, disgust on her face, and Sharon rolled her eyes, looking remarkably like Natasha.

            _Figures._

They both heard a door open in the hallway; Sharon grabbed her laundry basket as a prop and went out to look. Lydia heard a motorcycle backfire outside, startled, and overturned the bowl.

            “Oh, goddammit-”

            “Oh my God, you’re bleeding!” Sharon had come back in, and her gaze shifted from the blood running down Lydia’s blouse to the bullet hole… in a windowless wall.

            _I’ve been shot,_ Lydia informed herself, amazingly detached. There was a sudden explosion of noise across the hall; Sharon grabbed her gun and ran. _Right shoulder wound, not a kill shot. Deliberate, though, done to make a point. I’m no longer the target._

There was a bang just outside as Steve scrambled out of the apartment and went toward the roof. Magic sparked at Lydia’s blood-soaked fingers, but nothing stayed—she could feel the need to scream rising in her chest—

            _Fuck it, Lydia, get a hold of yourself, you’re not going to bleed out, you’re fine, but you need to move now, Fury brought you here for a reason, it’s just a bullet wound, you’re okay—_

“FUCK!”

            A burst of magic shot from her bloody fingers and healed the wound. Reciting tax rules in her head—the most boring, and therefore calming, thing she could think of, she staggered up and went to Steve’s apartment.

            “Ly—Lydia-”

            “God… Nicholas.” Lydia knelt at his side.

            “Take-” He gagged.

            “Take what?”

            Steve appeared in the doorway; on instinct, Lydia froze him where he stood.

            “Take… my…” He gestured to his chest.

            Lydia blinked. “You want me to take your heart out.”

            He nodded. Lydia sighed and did as he asked. Separated from the stress the rest of his body was undergoing, it began to beat steadily. Lydia pocketed it and put her ear to his chest.                          

            Nothing.

            She knocked Fury out and unfroze Steve, who had no conception that any time had passed, and left him and Sharon to call 911. She called Natasha, decided against her better instincts to keep what was actually happening a secret, and simply said they needed help. If Natasha noticed something off in Lydia’s voice, too preoccupied with Fury’s death and its implications to give anything else much of a thought. Five minutes after the doctors took Fury into surgery—Lydia made sure that none of them would notice the absence of a heart—she and Alexandrina hurried into the waiting room. Natasha took Lydia’s hand, heedless of the blood all over her.

            “Jesus, Lydia-” That was Alexandrina. “Is that all Fury’s?”

            Lydia turned. Nat popped her gum; Steve clutched the chips he had bought from the vending machine.

            “Tell me about the shooter,” Natasha demanded of Steve in a low voice.

            “He was… fast. Strong. Had a metal arm. Shot Lydia and Nick through walls, not windows.”

            “ _What_?” Alexandrina shrieked.

            Natasha winced.

            “Who is he, Nat?”

            “That’s not-”

            “Tell me, Natasha! He shot Fury!”

            “I don’t kn-”

            “ _Stop_ _lying_!”

            “I only act like I know everything, Rogers!” Natasha retorted.

            “Please, you’re closer to Fury than anyone else is. You can’t tell me you don’t know.”

            “I don’t. But…” she sighed. Both of them were actively ignoring Lydia and Alexandrina now. “Most of the intelligence community doesn’t believe he exists. The ones that do call him the Winter Soldier. He’s been credited with over two dozen assassinations in the last fifty years. He’s a ghost story. Going after him is a dead end. Trust me, I’ve tried.”

            Steve raised an eyebrow. “Then… let’s figure out what this ghost wants.”

            Lydia lifted her head. Steve stalked out, and Alexandrina shot a couple of nervous glances between her, Natasha, and the door before following Steve out.

            “Drina, if you’re going to tell me not to-”

            “I’m not!” She was well aware that she sounded much more defensive than she wanted to. “I just… be careful, Steve. You don’t know what you’re getting into. You can’t just barge-”

            “What do you know?”

            “Nothing!”

            “ _Don’t_. _Lie_.” His eyes bore holes into her.

            “I just want you to be careful,” she told him, her voice cracking. “Please. Don’t go running headlong into this. HYDRA… HYDRA is terrible. And we’ve only scratched the surface of what they’re capable of. My friend—my friend… I knew her for eleven years before we came here—before HYDRA took her. And I’ll never really know her again. Pease, Steve. All I want is for you to think before you act.”

            Steve nodded, after a slight hesitation, and offered her his hands. Alexandrina took them, and then stepped into his embrace. He brought her to him as if no time had passed. “I love you.”

            “I love you, too.”


	28. Pas du Tout D

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: WARNINGS: Swearing, combat, magic use, graphic character death, a nasty, rather painful revelation, the entire helicarrier battle scene in CATWS, mention of injuries, Steve and Drina have a heart to heart.

The next few days were utter hell. Lydia tried to involve herself with Project Insight as little as possible, but after Jasper Sitwell’s death at the hands of an unknown assailant (who had actually thrown him out of the car), she received a note from Fury, asking her to reveal to Natasha and Steve that he was alive, and to go with Natasha on the day when all of the UN officials were due to meet with Director Pierce.

            There was no apology written in the note, but taped to it was a gift certificate, in the amount of fifty dollars, to Barnes and Noble. Lydia was satisfied with that.

            Three days after Lydia received the note, Sam walked into Stark Tower and said simply to Alexandrina that Steve would not be coming back. He placed Steve’s engagement ring in her hand.

            Alexandrina locked herself in her room.

 

“Lydia? _Lydia?”_

“Hi, Steve, stop shouting in my ear-”

            “I—I’ve only got a couple of minutes—Lydia, did you know?”

            “I-”

            “ _Did you know_?”

            “…Yes, Steve, I knew.”

            “Lydia—why—why didn’t you tell me—why didn’t Drina tell me?”

            “It wouldn’t have helped the situation, Steve-”

            “He looked right at me. He didn’t even know me. He said, ‘Who the hell is Bucky?’ and he didn’t know me—Lydia, I—I can’t-”

            “Steve. Take a breath. I’m so sorry, I know it might have saved you shock if someone had told you, but it wouldn’t have helped anything-”

            “Lydia… we should have listened to you.”

            “Steve, you have to come home; Drina’s beside herself-”

            “I can’t. Not right now. I just can’t. Besides… things are…”

            “Wild. I know. Listen. At least text her or something. Let her know you’re okay. I’m going to tell her I talked to you. You need to come home and talk to her, Steve. Please do that.”

            The line went dead.

 

The next morning, Lydia and Natasha disguised themselves as UN officials and walked blithely into the meeting. When they arrived, Pierce was pouring champagne for everyone in the middle of the room.

            _Shit, goddammit, I want to pound his stupid fucking face in—_

Natasha shot her a look. Lydia bit her lip and waited.

            All at once, Pierce lifted his gun, pointing it at one of the officials. Lydia and Natasha both reacted; Natasha flew into action against Pierce and his lackeys, and Lydia threw up shields around the other officials, removing her disguise.

            “I’m sorry… did I step on your moment?”

            “It’s my two favorite SHIELD agents!” Pierce crowed, smiling widely. “Did you like the little present I left for you, мышка?”

            The name sounded ugly in his mouth.

            “Shut up,” she muttered.

            Natasha pulled the thumb drive from her pocket.

            “What are you going to do with that?”

            “Upload it to the entire fucking world, you scum.”

            “Are… are you sure you want to do that? There are quite a few videos of a… sensitive nature… in those files.”

            Natasha scoffed.

            “There are many of мышка and her precious Soldat, fucking like animals—he took it whenever he could get it, and she begged him for it, like the little whore she is-”

            “If you’re trying to make me call it off, you worthless piece of shit, you can shut up right now.”

            “Well, I’ve got bad news for you two… you need two scans to get in there, and you don’t have two.”

            “Oh, don’t worry,” Natasha taunted Pierce. “We’ve got someone coming along to help.”

            Fury chose that exact moment to stride in, and Lydia barely kept herself from rolling her eyes. “Agent Barnes, can I have what I gave you back now, please?”

            Lydia, growing slightly whiter at the new title, stepped forward and inserted Fury’s heart back in his chest.

            “I changed the scans,” Pierce told him, and if she hadn’t been listening for it, Lydia wouldn’t have heard the note of confusion in his voice.

            “I know you did… but if you want to be smarter than me, you gotta keep both eyes open.”

            Fury lifted his patch, smirking. The doors slid open and Natasha walked to the computer.

            “There was a time I would have taken a bullet for you,” Fury remarked offhandedly. Once again, Lydia was listening for it, and she heard the undercurrent of pain in his voice.

            “You already did.” Pierce turned to Natasha. “Are you ready for the world to know who you are?”

            She smiled. “…Are you?”

            Pierce’s lips spread into a delighted leer. “Are you ready for your parents to know who you are?”

            “My parents are dead.” Natasha didn’t look up from the computer.

            “They’re actually alive.”

            “I searched for records after I left the KGB. I found two gravestones-”

            “Which were planted,” Pierce interrupted. “Your parents are alive, Natalia-”

            “Don’t call me that!”

            “And your mother is right here in front of you.”

            “That’s bullshit,” Natasha spat.

            “When were you born, Natalia?”

            “Nineteen eight-”

            “ _When were you born_?”

            “…1964. I was born on September second, 1964.”

            “Count back,” Pierce demanded softly. “Kennedy died on November twenty-second… which was, also, the last time you fucked a man without complete and total supervision.”

            “I never got pregnant.”

            “We may have… altered your memory somewhat,” Pierce gloated. “You don’t remember because we got rid of any recollections of delivery, and you were kept in a coma for most of the baby’s development.”

            “You don’t get it—I never got pregnant,” Lydia repeated, her voice cracking slightly. “We had sex plenty of times-”

            “And you never got pregnant fucking _Bucky Barnes_ because he was unable to have children before the serum,” Pierce told her. “Once the serum fixed that problem-” He mimicked the sound of an explosion. “I’m surprised you didn’t pop out quintuplets!”

            “ _Shut the fuck up_.”

            “Don’t like that?” Pierce teased. “Did Natalia ever tell you that red isn’t her natural hair color? She has dark hair. Like both of her parents. And grey eyes, like her father’s. She has technology implanted in her brain that allows her to change her eye color at will. Show her.”

            Natasha, her face an unhealthy white, sighed and blinked. Her eyes turned a bold grey.

            Lydia’s mouth opened.

            “You both are very alike,” Pierce continued. “You’re both highly trained agents, skilled spies, and killers. Instinctive. Intuitive. Intelligent. You both have the same look about you—you’re women who have been to hell and back. Women who have looked death in the face and welcomed it. You’re both women who have seen the darkness inside yourselves and accepted it… and you’re both women who have loved a monster.”

            “SHUT UP!” Lydia bellowed, and raised her hand; Pierce came to her as if he was on a string. “Hail this,” she hissed, and presented him with the same tongue of flame that she had once shown to Natalia Romanova. Pierce’s mouth opened against his will, and Lydia, very gently, slid the flame into it.

            There was a moment of utter calm, and then Pierce’s expression dissolved into panic. He began to twitch, painfully, and let out a gargle as his body twisted. Heat began to emanate from him, and quite abruptly, he went to his knees. His body began to shake, and Lydia saw a sheen of what looked like sweat on his skin; finally, he opened his mouth and began to scream as it began to melt and slough off—his screams escalated—he threw his head back and his eyeballs melted and slid down his rapidly disintegrating face—

            Lydia turned and walked out.

 

Steve made it onto the third helicarrier and ran straight toward the bridge, his mind swimming with thoughts he couldn’t quite articulate. His last thought had gone something like: _Sam told me he was grounded because one of his wings was ripped off—he could have been a Howlie; he actually kind of reminds me of Gabe… I think there might have been a Howlie we called ‘Professor’ because he read anything he could get his hands on, but his real name was James—but James ripped his wing off—no,_ Bucky _ripped Sam’s wings off, but Bucky would have liked Sam… oh Jesus, Lydia’s going to lose her shit if I hurt him, and Drina didn’t tell me—why the hell didn’t she tell me—?_

The Winter Soldier stood ready for him on the other side of the bridge.

            And it was Bucky, Steve told himself, dread welling up in his heart. The man standing across from him wore no goggles or mask, and despite the long hair and stone-cold expression, it was Bucky. He reached out involuntarily and mentally cringed when the man didn’t react.

            “A lot of people are going to die, Buck.”

            Nothing.             

            Steve shelved his pride. “Please… don’t make me do this.”

            Still nothing.

            He tried one more time. “Lydia is alive. She needs you.”

            Bucky’s—the Winter Soldier’s—face didn’t change. Steve paused, Lydia’s face at the forefront of his brain. _I can’t kill him, it would destroy her—and he’s my friend—_

He threw his shield. It came flying back and Bucky—not Bucky—attacked with a ferocity that terrified Steve to the marrow of his bones.

            He was fighting for his life.

            Sending a silent plea for forgiveness to Lydia, Steve fought back, matching move for move, but aiming only to disable, not to kill. The man who was Bucky but not Bucky came at him with adulterated hatred in his eyes, and Steve had to work to ignore the incoherent anguish rattling around in his heart. He kept fighting, pushed past, was dragged back, pushed past again—he needed that damn chip, and Bucky-not-Bucky had a hold of it; there was no help for it—he broke his old friend’s arm and cringed at the scream that left the Soldier’s mouth.

            “Drop it!”

            The Soldier did. Steve grabbed it, dodged the messy assault, kept moving forward.

            _I gotta get the chip in—_

Shots rang out, and Steve staggered as blood rushed from two places in his stomach. Looking over, he saw Bucky-not-Bucky still aiming the gun, right arm tucked tightly to his side, smirking in satisfaction when he realized his last shot had been fatal.

            “Je—jerk…” Steve inhaled, realized how much that hurt, and willed himself to do it again anyway, using his rapidly waning strength to crawl up and put the damned chip in. He counted five shots in total, but thank God, the helicarrier began to implode below him. He thought that he heard a panicked cry, and looked over.

            _Bucky’s still down there._

“Charlie lock.”

            Maria’s voice came into his ear, shaking with nervousness. “Okay, get out of there!”

            “Shoot it down!”

            “Captain Rogers-”

            “Shoot it down, now!”

            “But Steve-”

            “Do it!” He cut off communication.

            A frustrated cry cut through the sound of the helicarrier’s destruction, and Steve made his way painfully down to where his best friend lay trapped under steel beams.

            _“Barnes, James Buchanan… 32-”_

_“Bucky—Bucky, it’s me-”_

_“…Steve…”_

Steve shook his head, forcing the memory away, and lifted the beams off his friend. Both men staggered to their feet, the Soldier’s face confused and upset. “You know me,” Steve shouted, panting.

            “NO, I DON’T!” Bucky-not-Bucky punched him.

            “Your name is James… Buchanan… Barnes…” Steve rasped.

            “SHUT UP!”

            “I’m not gonna fight ya. You’re my friend.” He tossed his shield through a hole in the floor, thought Drina would kill him for that, and then realized he was likely going to die without telling her he was sorry first.

            The Soldier dove and took him down, and Steve immediately went limp; his head banged annoyingly hard on the metal, but if he was honest with himself, that was the least of his problems. “You’re my mission,” the Soldier growled, and began punching Steve repeatedly, his metal arm squealing brokenly with every movement. “YOU’RE. MY. MISSION!”

            “Then finish it,” Steve muttered. “Cause I’m with ya-”

            _To the end of the line, pal._

The Asset paused, his clenched fist frozen above Captain America’s face.

            _This is mine,_ he thought, and saw a fuzzy image of this man’s face, gaunt, more desperate, but still sporting scratches and a black eye. _He’s mine… I know him._

“Come back, Buck,” Captain America—no, that wasn’t his name, but the Asset couldn’t remember it anyway—slurred. “She needs ya…”

            With a low, mournful creak, the floor of the helicarrier gave way, and Steve— _Steve_ was his name—went with it toward the water below. The Asset, saved only by his reflexive grab of a rail, watched him fall.

            _He needs you._

That voice was different, it was a woman’s—it conjured up an image of someone, looking at him with love and tears in her eyes—

            _Mine._

He dived.

 

Sam, Natasha, Lydia, and Fury were now all crammed miserably into the tiny helicopter; they were flying over the city, desperately looking for any sign of Steve. Sam was the only one talking, muttering irritably that he’d definitely told Fury he was on the forty-first floor.

            “What is that?” Natasha spoke up. “Is that a body?”

            “It’s Rogers!” Fury angled the helicopter and abruptly sank a good twenty feet. Lydia and Sam both heaved.

            “Here, let me-” Natasha reached for Lydia, but she let out a shriek. Sam clapped his hands over his ears, and Natasha leaned quickly backward as though she’d been hit, her hand over her mouth. Fury landed the helicopter, unfortunately roughly, and everyone piled out. Lydia marched right past the others and went tearing through the brush.

            “Where’s the shield?” That was Sam.

            “It either exploded up there with the helicopter or went into the water with the rest of the debris,” Fury answered. “How did he get up here?”

            “He was dragged,” Natasha told him, but she’d deliberately stepped all over the boot tracks.

            “Is he alive?”

            “He’s breathing. He needs a hospital-”

            “Where’s Lydia? She can heal him.” Natasha cupped her hands over her mouth. “LYDIA!”

            She came crashing back and went to her knees at Steve’s side. Yellow light engulfed him and the others shielded their eyes. When the light dissipated, Steve looked as good as new, but Lydia stopped him from getting up. “You need to at least go to the infirmary at the Tower,” she informed him. “You were shot five times, you had six broken ribs, you had lacerations and contusions everywhere, you had a broken collarbone, two broken cheekbones, and a lump on your head the size of an egg, not to mention a giant black eye. You’re healed, but I’m not taking chances.”

            “Yes, ma’am,” Steve acquiesced meekly.

            Lydia waved her hand and the shield came flying out of the water, landing softly next to Steve.

            “Thank you.”

            “You’re welcome.”

            Fury and Sam went to either side of Steve and helped him into the helicopter. Lydia enlarged it with a wave of her hand and Fury went back to the controls. When they arrived back at the Tower, Alexandrina was waiting on the launch pad, bouncing nervously on the balls of her feet. Steve took her in his arms. “We need to talk,” he whispered, “but I’m sorry. I love you.”

            She offered him his ring back and he took it; they headed up to the infirmary together and Lydia put him to bed. “You’re staying here for the rest of the night,” she commanded. “No strenuous activity. That includes foreplay and fucking. I don’t care who’s on top.”

            “Yes, ma’am,” Alexandrina agreed reluctantly, and Steve smiled. When Lydia had left, she crawled in bed next to him. “I’m sorry, Steve,” she told him, and crumpled, bursting into tears. “I should have told you about him—I’ve been nothing but a selfish, horrible bitch to you—and Howard, but he’s not here and I can’t apologize to him. All I’ve ever done is try to control you and lie to you and change you, and I don’t deserve-”

            “Stop it, Drina,” he interrupted firmly. “Stop that right now, because that’s not what you are.”

            “But-”

            “Drina, I’m not going to say you haven’t done wrong, because you have. You’ve reacted badly a lot of different times, and it’s hurt me. But… you’re human. And you’re in a very unique situation—one that I can’t blame you for. I wish you had told me about Bucky, especially because-”

            “Don’t you _dare_ say it was your fault!”

            “But I-”

            “It was _not_ ,” Alexandrina emphasized. “You told me _he_ was the one who brought up the idea of going after HYDRA in the first place. And you didn’t make him go with you—you asked, and he said yes! It was his choice to go. You’re not HYDRA—you didn’t _make_ him do anything against his will. And he fell thousands of feet into ice; you can be forgiven for thinking he died.”

            “…Can I?”

            “Steven Grant Rogers.” Alexandrina saw his eyes widen. “The world is not your burden. I swear to God, I know he’s not your favorite person in the world, but sometimes you sound exactly like Tony. You can’t save the world alone—you’re one man. And Bucky—what happened to him—it isn’t your responsibility. If anyone is to blame, it’s HYDRA.”

            After a long pause, Steve nodded. “Drina… why didn’t you tell me?”

            “…I… I didn’t want to hurt you anymore,” she told him after a moment, her answer coming out in a pathetic whine.

            He grabbed her hands.

            “I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “You deserve better than me.”

            “There is no one better,” Steve contradicted, and leaned up to his Alexandrina’s cheek. “I hope that doesn’t count as ‘strenuous activity.’”


	29. Pas du Tout E

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Swearing, a conversation happens that is years in the making. Mentions of smut and a breakdown

Two days after they arrived back at Stark Tower, Lydia had a nervous breakdown. Natasha separated herself from the others, and Sam hardly ever left Lydia’s room. The truth of Natasha’s parentage came out with the rest of the information in her data dump, and it sent everyone into a panic, until Alexandrina calmed them down and told them that there was nothing any of them could do besides brace for impact.

            Soon, videos of what had been done to Bucky Barnes (and conversely, videos of what he had done to the woman who had he had once called his wife) were all over the Internet. Lydia, Natasha, and Alexandrina watched none of them, but one day, Alexandrina discovered Steve, sobbing in front of a computer screen, watching two videos at once—one of Bucky being wiped at Pierce’s hands, and another of what Alexandrina couldn’t help but call the “honeymoon” in 1963, in which Bucky—Soldat—brutally fucked his wife on the floor of a bathroom before putting her tenderly in a hot bath.

            One afternoon, as Alexandrina was coaxing a stubbornly silent Lydia to take a bite of the chocolate cake Sharon had brought over, the doorbell rang downstairs. A couple of minutes later, Steve knocked gingerly on the bedroom door, and Alexandrina let him in.

            “A lady from the Smallcakes cupcake shop is here,” he told them. “She says she has a delivery and she’ll only give it to Lydia.”

            “Can’t you take-”

            “I already tried,” Steve sighed. “But she was pretty adamant. Natasha even offered her a DNA sample to prove that she was related to Lydia.”

            Alexandrina snorted; she wasn’t entirely sure, but she thought she saw Lydia’s lip twitch.

            “She’ll only give it to Lydia,” Steve repeated, and shrugged.

            Lydia sighed irritably, and accepted Steve’s arm, leaning heavily on him as she left her room for the first time in weeks. The lady was waiting in the doorway, holding a large box. “You’re Lydia.”

            She nodded.

            “I didn’t know Smallcakes delivered,” Sam piped up.

            “We normally don’t,” the lady told him. “But the guy who bought the cake paid extra. He was a big, beefy dude. Had these sad, puppy-dog eyes. Said he missed a few wedding anniversaries and wanted to make up for it.”

            The room was instantly engulfed in an aggressively oppressive silence. The lady shifted and offered the box to Lydia, who took it with shaking hands; as soon as she was gone, Lydia opened it. Inside was a humongous chocolate cupcake, clearly specially made, topped with a pretty periwinkle flower, made entirely of icing and spun sugar. In the center of the flower, stuck securely to the icing, was a bright gold pin off of an army uniform, worn circa 1940.

 

“Why didn’t he come?” Steve asked for the fortieth time. Natasha ticked off another tally mark.

            “Because he didn’t want to, Steve,” Alexandrina answered, her eye on Natasha and her voice exhausted.

            “But-”

            “He wouldn’t have wanted to be around this many people, for one thing,” Lydia interrupted, sitting gingerly on the couch. She was still clutching her cupcake, using it as a barrier between herself and the others. “I can’t believe he was… coherent enough to do this.”

            “We wouldn’t have overwhelmed him.”

            “Steve, just being in the same room with other people is probably too much for him right now. Pierce didn’t just continue what the Russians did; he made it a thousand times worse. Bucky won’t even remember how to be human anymore, much less remember how to be Bucky Barnes.” She put up a hand, fending off Steve’s protests. “I know you want him back. I know he pulled you from the river. But it’s likely that the only two _real_ thoughts in his head right now are that he doesn’t feel like a machine anymore and that something is very, very wrong. He’ll need time, Steve—time to relearn what food is, how to control his bladder, how to dress himself—learning your name, my name, _his_ name, is so far down on the list right now. So being here, with us, is out of the question.”

            Steve’s eyes narrowed at her, his brow furrowing. Lydia braced herself.

            “You… you know where he is, don’t you?”

            Lydia bit down on her lip, stubbornly silent once more.

            “How?” Sam asked, sitting up slightly in his chair.

            “You _knew_ ,” Steve whispered, his voice hoarse, anger leaking through. “You _both_ knew.”

            Alexandrina shot Steve a frustrated look as Lydia broke down into tears, and put an arm around her quietly sobbing friend.

            “Why the hell didn’t you _tell_ him?”

            “And see him jailed for dodging the draft? Or worse, watch him run as fast as he could from me and see it all happen anyway? I wanted to save him, Steve. I _tried_. I love him more than I’ve ever loved anyone in my life. But he never would have believed me. Just like you wouldn’t have believed Drina.”

            “I tried to tell you not to go in the first place!” Alexandrina blurted, her voice accusingly shrill. “Jesus Christ, Steve, we both tried everything short of saying, ‘Hey, we’re from a world where you only exist as comic book characters, all this shit is going to happen, and no, we don’t know how we got here, so even if you lock us the fuck up, at least take your way out while you still can!’”

            “I know how we got here,” Lydia broke in before Steve could retort, her voice dull. “Red Skull and Zola… they brought us here. He said that they tried an experiment… and it worked. Red Skull also told me that they wanted us specifically, me because of the magic I would have once they injected me with that—that serum—no, it’s a different kind—and they wanted Drina because of-” She bit her lip. “Well, they didn’t get what they wanted.”

            Alexandrina covered her mouth.

            “He told me that… that they didn’t have any control over when we would appear here,” Lydia continued. “We could have been born here, we could have come as teenagers, or I could have appeared right there, with Red Skull already. But… he said we came when we did because we unconsciously made it our mission to save them. And we failed. We failed. Steve, I’m so sorry, it was all my fault-”

            “No. No, it wasn’t,” he interrupted, hugging them both, all three of them openly weeping. “You tried your best. You both carried a burden that shouldn’t have been yours in the first place. You did the best you could with the circumstances you were given. Please don’t blame yourselves.”

            “Did… did you know about me?” Natasha spoke up for the first time.

            “I knew of you,” Lydia answered, when she regained her composure. “You were in the comic books and the movies. But-” She flailed a little, helplessly. “That? That was new. That didn’t happen.”

            “So things can change,” she mused. “I’m guessing there wasn’t a мышка in those books, was there?”

            Lydia shook her head.

            “That’s… that’s what he called you, wasn’t it?” Steve whispered. “Did he know you? Remember you?”

            “Not exactly,” Lydia muttered, rolling her eyes, and told the others the story of what had happened to her on the day she’d first been taken out of cryofreeze. “He didn’t remember who I was—he didn’t know my name, or remember that I was his wife, but he knew… he knew I was his and he never forgot that, no matter how many times they wiped him… until Pierce got to him.”

            “But how—I mean—I don’t understand-”

            “I don’t either, not exactly,” Lydia said. “But… you remember what the negative of a photograph looks like, right? You’ve seen that?”

            Steve nodded. “They showed me a lot of things while I was… resting up… at SHIELD. The developments in technology and whatnot. I know what you’re talking about.”

            She plowed on, well aware that all of them were hanging on her every word. “That’s the best way I can explain it to you. The Winter Soldier was Bucky’s negative. They took away his memories of himself, all recollections of who he had been, and they left an empty shell, then they put him through hell. But they couldn’t get rid of the core qualities that made the man who he was. The loyalty, the kindness, the protectiveness… Bucky was still in there. He was still everything he had been. It was just reshaped. He still took care of me, as best as he could, because that was who he was… but all he knew was inflicting pain, so… sometimes he didn’t understand what he felt for me or why he felt it. It’s not like HYDRA told him. So he was… brutal, sometimes.”

            Steve winced, turning red.

            “Howard and Dr. Erskine told you that the serum makes the good better and the bad worse. That was true for Bucky, too. Protectiveness and loyalty can be taken too far. Kindness can turn into possessiveness. Without his memories, without… something to temper him, he became a monster. They exploited all of the good qualities he had and turned them ugly. They exploited _us._ They sent us out on a mission, and I guess they weren’t sure how he was going to do, in broad daylight, with people everywhere and every opportunity to run, so they… they used me to keep him calm and framed it deliberately as a honeymoon, to get to me. They were looking for a reaction… testing us… and they got it.”

            “Ack.”

            “Sorry, Nat,” Lydia muttered, then blinked. “Oh, right. Sorry.”

            Sam snorted violently, trying unsuccessfully to hold it back and failing. At Natasha’s resulting glare, he flinched.

            “But… you know where he is,” Steve repeated.

            Lydia nodded. “I think so. I know where he’ll end up.”

            “And you won’t take me to him, even though you know I want to find him.”

            She nodded, this time reluctantly.

            “But what if he… does something bad?”

            “He’s not going to,” Lydia answered with certainty, and Steve looked askance. “He never did anything without being told to do it first, unless it came to protecting me, and he’s… he’s forgotten me. The only time he ever did anything bad was if it was framed as a mission and he was given orders.”

            “Then he needs help!”

            “Not from you,” Lydia contradicted. “You need to understand this, Steve. You’re never getting your best friend Bucky back. I’m never getting my husband back. He won’t be Bucky, or the Soldier, or my husband, ever again. Now he’ll be something in between.”

            “Lydia, Steve isn’t just going to get this in five minutes-” Alexandrina attempted.

            “Well, at the very least, he needs to put this aside, because we both know Tony is the bigger problem right now-”

            Alexandrina groaned. “Why don’t you just use your magic to find him?”

            “I tried. But everything we have of Tony’s is something he built. He cleared out. Didn’t even leave his toothbrush. And my magic has never worked well with technology. I could never fix Bucky’s metal arm—only hide it, and heal wounds. Tony and Bruce took every single personal possession that meant something to them. Every single one, and that’s what I would need.”

            “Why would they do that?”

            “Because, Steve…” Alexandrina inhaled deeply, as if she was trying to borrow patience from the air. “They aren’t planning on coming back. They will, but, they didn’t plan on it. They left to build a… a sort of robot. An AI that can be turned into an army and keep its eyes on the entire world, to prevent any crime before it happens, or at least, always get the person who commits the crime. Tony… Tony didn’t tell me much, but he said he had a sort of dream… he saw something that scared him. And it was serious, Steve. He saw… he saw every single one of us dead. Dead in a horrible battle of some sort. Things are a little different than how I know them, but this happened in the movies, too. He saw the vision and he got scared and decided to build it. He’ll call it Ultron.” Ignoring their skeptical looks, she heaved a breath. “It’s meant well, but… it’ll become sentient, and destroy an entire country, called Sokovia. The consequences… they’ll tear the team apart.”

            “And he didn’t tell us any of this _why_?”

            “Because Tony knows he’s a complete fuckup,” Lydia suddenly snarled.

            Even Steve looked startled. “Lydia-”

            “He’s just like his father,” she continued, her words bitter. “Stupid, selfish, impulsive, and reckless, and utterly foolish.”

            Alexandrina snorted loudly.

            “But his father understood consequences… except when it came to his own family. And now his son is going to destroy mine because Howard was a shitty father.”

            “And what do you think is going to happen to mine?” Alexandrina questioned, looking between Steve and the empty seat where Tony would have been sitting on her other side. “I tried to keep him from doing this—I’m right in the middle of everything!”

            Before Lydia could say what was written all over her face, Sam jumped in. “Okay, technically we have no idea what you two are getting at, or why Lydia is looking at you why she thinks you’re suddenly going to go rogue on everyone, but clearly, we need to find Stark.”

 

As it turned out, he found them, and by the time he did, it was much too late.


	30. Pas du Tout F

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TONS OF ANGST.

**2015**

None of the others’ fury at Tony’s actions could compete with the devastating effect of the disappointment on Alexandrina’s face. Tony tried several times to speak to her, possibly to explain or justify himself, and to everyone’s horror, she couldn’t bring herself to speak to him. Lydia and Steve, wisely, didn’t try to talk to him either, but Lydia’s resolve to let those who had more sympathy for Tony handle the situation cracked when she saw, firstly, Alexandrina crying in her bedroom, wondering where she had gone wrong, and secondly, Natasha and Tony sitting together in the living room of Stark Tower, tracking Ultron’s movements and having what was obviously a serious conversation. She planted herself in the kitchen; Natasha, as she had suspected, came in to get a snack for Tony, and she pounced.

            “What are you doing with Tony?”

            “…Trying to track Ultron.”

            “He’s going to end up in Sokovia. We can beat him there. Now, what are you doing?”

            “No one else will talk to Tony.” Natasha answered, groaning when she saw the large box containing the blueberry and raisin packs was empty. “Someone has to acknowledge his existence.”

            “He’s going to try and kill your father.”

            Natasha turned, slowly; Lydia offered her the unopened container of cupcakes and she snatched them. “I don’t know why he would kill Barnes. And as far as I’m concerned, I don’t have parents.”

            Lydia stepped back.

            “Don’t corner me,” Natasha continued. “I’m fully aware you hate Tony, and that you’re worried for Barnes. But Tony needs a friend. Somebody who thinks his life is worth something. Somebody who can show him that he’s not the lowest of humanity. One phone call from Howard Stark two hours before he died in a car accident isn’t enough. And his own aunt—well, sort of, I guess—can’t even bring herself to fight with him.” She bit her lip. “Tony has always been like a brother to me. He deserves better than this from all of you. I know you know things, and I’m not sure what you know, but keeping secrets hasn’t worked so far. It might help if you just sit him down and tell him. I can’t guarantee he’ll have the best reaction, but…” She lifted one shoulder in a seemingly casual gesture. “If you all are so worried he’s going to break up the team, maybe you shouldn’t get rid of the person who started it in the first place.”

            Lydia stood frozen, mouth slightly open. Natasha’s eyes hardened. “And don’t ever try to mother me again.”

 

Within the week, Alexandrina, Steve, and Lydia had begun to speak to Tony again, but thanks to the escalating battle with Ultron, no one had been able to actually sit him down and give him any information. After hearing that Sam was on vacation with friends and that the team desperately needed eyes in the sky, Clint Barton came out of retirement and offered to help. Lydia was present when he set eyes on Natasha for the first time in years; neither of the women missed his half-terrified, half-awed “where have I been and my life has changed forever” expression, but Natasha couldn’t bring herself to mention it to Lydia, even though she wanted to, and Lydia, who hadn’t so much as looked at Natasha since their confrontation, didn’t dare.

            Tony took control of the operation, moving them toward Sokovia and Ultron, and Steve let him, but everything came to a screeching halt on the day they found Bruce Banner crouching in a hotel room, so completely terrified of… _something_ … that he couldn’t even become the Hulk. Tony couldn’t soothe him; despite his insistence that the visions were likely just a tactic to scare them (and that he should have known that since the beginning), Bruce was gone the next morning, and Ultron, along with Scarlet Witch and Quicksilver, were right on the Avengers’ heels.

            “Guys, we gotta move!” Tony received no answer, and tried to keep his overwhelming panic at bay. “Guys?”

            Natasha blinked; she was still walking down stairs, but—

            _She was back where she had grown up; she could see the girls dancing together, moving as one, and went to look. This was the last day before graduation—there was her teacher, the closest thing to a mother she’d ever had—but she had a mother now, didn’t she?_

_Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a tongue of flame dance._

_“He’ll break them.”_

_“Only the breakable ones. You are made of marble.”_

_The scene flickered, once, twice—she was on a gurney, going down a hallway—there were girls with no mouths, effectively silenced, unable to defend themselves—a man was sitting in a chair, tied to it, shaking and crying, a hood over his face. Natalia raised the gun—_

_And she was thrown brutally against a desk, locked in combat, but it was only practice; she was hauled up again and made to start over—somehow, she was still on that gurney, being pushed towards a procedure she didn’t want and knew would hurt._

_“The ceremony is necessary.”_

_Natalia was fighting again, with the same man who had thrown her; he was behind her now, arms tightening over her throat. She shifted, trying to get away, and he grunted, cutting off her air. There was a move, she knew it, she could do it, but he was her_ папочка _and she didn’t want to hurt him—_

_Natasha’s stomach sank. She had been right all along._

_Natalia raised her arm and slapped his, twice. He peeled away from her._

_“Sloppy. Pretending to fail.”_

_She was in the infirmary, clutching a teddy bear; her_ папочка _was lying down, cradling a woman to him, but looking right at her._

 _“You know what to do, don’t you,_ Звёздочка _?”_

_The woman with him—her mother, Natasha thought—smiled, hugged her, offered her an open palm; the tongue of flame danced._

_“You must take your place in the world.”_

“I have no place in the world.”

            Elsewhere, Steve backed away from Thor, whose eyes were an unnatural red, and scrambled out of the room, determined to find Tony and to get home, because they’d left Alexandrina behind, and not even Stark Tower could protect her from this. He shoved his way through a locked door—

            _And found himself in a ballroom, lit dimly in pinks and reds. It was the Stork Club—how fucking ironic was that name?—and there was music playing, music that he had once listened to and loved. Around him, men and women dressed in military uniform, danced and laughed, but one woman was definitely dabbing blood off a man’s chest, and one was twirling, reaching out to catch her partner as he went to his knees with a bullet in his back—_

_Steve was in a military uniform as well; specifically, it was the one he’d been wearing when he promised himself that all of HYDRA would pay for murdering Bucky._

_“Hey, punk.”_

_Steve turned. Bucky was standing in front of him, wearing his blue Howling Commandos uniform, young, healthy, and whole. Lydia stood next to him, leaning comfortably into his body. Blood trickled lazily from a mark on her neck, very clearly made by his teeth._

_“Steve?” That was Peggy, who walked up to him and smiled. “What are you standing around for?”_

_“The war is over, Steve,” Alexandrina whispered behind him, and when he turned back around, he saw that her skin was wrinkled, her body bent, her hair white. “We can go home.” She watched him fondly. “We can go home now. Can you imagine it? I’ve been waiting so long…”_

_Steve staggered. “Drina—I-”_

_“We can get married,” Alexandrina continued, smiling. “Right? Or are you just going to keep leaving me behind? I’m running out of time-”_

“NO!” Steve bellowed, nearly falling in his attempt to get out of the room. “NATASHA! TONY! LYDIA! WHERE ARE YOU?”

            For her part, Lydia was alone in a hallway, swearing profusely, magic sparking uselessly at her fingers. She’d put a barrier around her mind in an attempt to stop Wanda from getting in, but unfortunately, her magic was failing her when it came to actually finding her and Quicksilver. Bitter and frustrated, she overturned a chair. “Fuck this! Fuck-”

            _“Everything! Oh God, not again-”_

_Lydia was in a horrible amount of pain. Her entire body felt as though it was coming apart at the seams. She was lying down on a bed in a dim room; people were moving chaotically around her, but she couldn’t quite see what was happening—_

_“Baby doll, you’re gonna break my hand.”_

_Lydia jumped. Bucky was sitting next to her, dapper and playful in his old military uniform, hat tipped at an angle on his head. “I love ya, Squeaky,” Bucky murmured regretfully. “I’m so sorry—I’ll never do this to ya again.”_

_“Bucky, I-”_

_Someone shouted at them and Lydia felt an enormous pressure on her lower abdomen. Bucky groaned and wriggled his hand out of his wife’s, with a massive effort. He folded the affronted hand on his thigh and began to stroke her hair with his free one. Lydia felt the cold bite of metal and snatched at it._

_“Push,_ Fraulein,” _Red Skull commanded, standing near her feet._

_“Come on, Squeaky,” Bucky encouraged, giving Lydia a sweet smile. “Push now.”_

_Natasha walked up to Lydia’s other side. “I don’t have parents.”_

_“Nat-”_

_“You’ll be okay,_ шлюшка (slut) _,” Bucky murmured, the world mangled in his Brooklyn accent._

_“You’re going to fail me,” Natasha intoned, her eyes unforgiving._

_“You failed me, too,” Howard told her, standing behind Natasha. “Why didn’t you save me?”_

_“No—Howard, I-”_

_“Don’t mother me. You’re not my mother.”_

_“Nat, I-”_

            “я тебя люблю. Помнить _…”_ (I love you. Remember.)

            _“Bucky, please-”_

“Steve, Steve, it’s okay—listen to me, we’re going to get you home-” That was Tony, nearly shouting over Steve’s frustrated, incoherent rambling. Clint sat next to Natasha, who was staring at an old bullet hole in the wall, no longer under the influence of Scarlet Witch’s magic, but still far away. Thor was nowhere to be found, and Lydia wondered if he had already fled to Asguard.

            A stabbing pain shot through Lydia’s head; she collapsed backward with a moan. Natasha startled at it, and Clint came over. “Don’t move too much,” Natasha instructed, and Lydia caught sight of the messy tear tracks still on her face. “You hit yourself in the head with your own magic.”

            “…Why?” Lydia knew she was making a comically confused face because of how much it hurt her to do so.

            “You were trying to get her out,” Clint explained, his lip twitching. Natasha smacked him.

            Lydia raised her hand to her head. “Well, now we can find them.”

            That got everyone’s attention. “How?” Steve asked, rubbing his face vigorously, trying to pull himself together.

            “She left me something of hers,” Lydia answered, and drew a bright red, pulsing bead of magic from her head. “Now I can locate her. I’ve never tried casting magic on magic before, but there’s a first time for everything.”

            “I want to eat first,” Tony interrupted, cringing at the annoyed reaction from the others. “What? I don’t want to fight on an empty stomach, and eating reduces stress!”

            “Sure, Tony,” Lydia sighed, rolling her eyes; she waved her hand and they disappeared, appearing again in an abandoned warehouse, and she waved her hand again to create a gigantic, steaming hot pizza. Tony was the first to dig in.

            “How is this supposed to help-”

            “Capsicle.” Tony spoke with a full mouth. “Eat the pizza, take a breather.”

            “Does my slice have birdseed in it?” Clint was eyeing the pizza distrustfully.

            “Just eat it, Barton.”

            “Nat, look, my slice actually has bird-”

            Lydia blocked them out and cast a locator spell on the Scarlet Witch’s magic. The bright red ball actually screamed and fizzled out before a portal appeared, and Tony paused with his second slice halfway to his mouth. “What the-”

            “I just have to get close to her,” Lydia muttered, a leer very much like her Soldat’s curling her lip. “Then I can take her down.”

            Even Nat flinched.

            “Lydia-”

            “What, Steve? Are you going to tell me there’s a better way to do this? Because yes, I am fully aware that there is always a better way. I came from a world where the ‘better way’ happened. It also directly leads to the death of Quicksilver, and indirectly, to the team coming apart at the seams! And you know what else? I am absolutely, utterly _sick_ of all this. Do you know what the Scarlet Witch just did to me? I saw bits and pieces of my daughter’s delivery. It was all fucked up, but it was there, and Bucky was there, and _Howard_ was there! He asked me why I didn’t save him.” She took a breath, but didn’t give Steve the chance to respond. “I have been in this goddamn realm for seventy-one years, and only about three weeks of it weren’t filled with pain and suffering. If it wasn’t mine, it was someone else’s. This place… it wasn’t fucking worth it. I failed my husband, I failed my friend, I failed my daughter, who I barely remember even having, thank you HYDRA, _again,_ I failed my only friend from home—maybe if I had listened to her and been less of a coward, none of this would have happened! So you know what? I would like something to change! That, or I want to go home!”

            Steve spoke first in the ensuing silence. “…You didn’t fail Drina. That failure was mine. She was so insistent, so adamant, and I thought she just didn’t understand war, or me, and it turns out that she did, better than I ever could have thought. So… that failure was _not_ yours.”

            “And you didn’t fail me,” Natasha continued, softly. “You couldn’t have. HYDRA didn’t give you a chance to. Which is not your fault.”

            Lydia huffed.

            “And you didn’t fail Howard, or your husband,” Steve whispered. “You love who you love. There’s no real choice involved in that. Howard’s death wasn’t your fault. And if anyone failed Bucky, it was me. Drina says it wasn’t my fault, but… you gave up everything for him. Multiple times. You found him again; he remembered you, in a way. Deep down, he knew you were his, and he never questioned that. I… I never really went after him. I gave up and went on a mission I knew would probably get me killed instead of staying strong and looking for him… and being there for the woman I said I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. And when I saw him again, I wasn’t enough. He didn’t remember me. I was never enough.”

            “That is _not_ true,” Lydia retorted, clenching her jaw. “You brought him back, didn’t you? He was about to kill you, and you said, ‘I’m with you until the end of the line.’ You _brought him back_. And this was never about who was or wasn’t enough; it’s not a competition. I love him. You love him. Hell, when I arrived here, I knew how much the two of you mattered to each other. I never wanted to diminish that—and I was so worried about it! So don’t you dare say you weren’t enough. This isn’t on you. It never was.”

            “If it’s not on me, then it’s not on you.”

            “If anything should be on anyone, it’s me,” Tony piped up. “Firstly, because I am a hot billionaire and an even rarer specimen than Capsicle here-”

            “Not needed, Stark,” Natasha interrupted.

            “Secondly, you know you weren’t the only ones that had visions-”

            “Clearly,” Lydia spat, stopping him in his tracks. “Because yours started all this shit. And I know exactly what you saw, Tony. So does Drina. And I swear to God, what’s supposed to happen to this team as a result of your completely narcissistic vision, even though your fear is not unfounded, would be completely solved if you would just level with them right now.”

            “Why are you so worried about the team?” Tony was eyeing her, slightly suspicious.

            “Did you forget that Fury essentially put me in charge of managing you, and even though SHIELD is gone, you essentially spat on that when you ran off with Banner and built your shitty AI?”

            Tony blushed.

            “You need to tell them. When we get home. We can stop it-”

            “No one can stop it!”

            “We have knowledge, Tony! _Real_ knowledge! We have the details. We’ve read the comics, seen the movies—we can anticipate the moves, we can protect the stones! At the very least, we can slow this down. If anything can change, Tony, it’s that!”

            Tony sighed.

            “You are not the only one who has the ability to save the world,” Lydia said softly. “That’s why you _have_ a team.”

            “…What do you know?”

            “Tony-”

            _“What do you know?”_

“What are you talking about?”

            “Don’t bullshit!”

            “Tony, what the-”

            “Tell me.”

            After an ominous silence, Lydia sighed heavily. “As a result of… all this… the UN will get angry. And nervous. They’ll draw up a contract called the Sokovia Accords, which will basically just be an official excuse for them to regulate you all.”

            “Maybe we need-”

            “I do not have time to debate this with you right now,” Lydia snarled. “My point is, some of you will sign it and some of you won’t. Those who don’t…” Lydia shrugged. “Essentially, they’ll be fugitives—vigilantes—in the eyes of government. Steve won’t sign. Drina won’t sign—she loves you, but she won’t sign. You can bet your ass I won’t sign. It’ll break the team apart. You’ll end up hating each other-”

            “Why won’t I sign?” Steve pressed, a tic in his jaw. “I mean, I know I wouldn’t trust a governmental organization to tell me where to go and what to do, but… you make it sound personal.”

            The blood drained from Lydia’s face.

            “Lydia?”

            “By then… you’ll have seen firsthand what a governmental organization can do to a person if it has the power.”

            Steve paled. “…I’m going to find him, aren’t I?”

            “Cap…” Tony started. “If you find him you need to turn him in.”

            Both Lydia and Steve turned on him. He cringed.

            “What? Steve, he was responsible for-”

            “HYDRA was responsible for everything he did. HYDRA. He didn’t have a choice!”

            “He held the gun every time!”

            “And every goddamn thing the Winter Soldier did had two victims. The one in front of the gun and the one behind it. He was tortured beyond belief. Beyond anything you can comprehend.” She jabbed a finger in Tony’s chest. “You remember who you are. You know you’re a human being whose life is worth something. Even while you were being tortured, you knew that. My husband was made to forget it. Not just his name.”

            “He could have fought back,” Tony said softly, so as not to antagonize her. “He remembered you.”

            “Not really,” Steve cut in. “It was more like knowing you’ve seen someone somewhere, but not knowing any details.”

            “Thank you.”

            Tony inhaled, then blew the air out, clearly exhausted. “That’s not all that’s bothering you. I can see it all over your face. I mean, I’ve got problems, and I know it, but… why are you so worried about the team?”

            “I just told you-”

            “You haven’t told me all of it,” Tony accused her. “Jesus, Lydia, you don’t seem to understand—and you, of all people, should! Maybe you don’t give a fuck! I know what’s coming! I’ve seen it! The death… the destruction… bodies lying in the street, whole cities, whole planets, reduced to nothing, our souls broken, no release, no hope of an afterlife, just an endless loop of time in utter hell! I have to stop it! I can’t just sit back on my ass and let it happen!”

            “You don’t have to, Tony! But you’re not the only one who can! You need to open up to the team and tell them, rely on them, too! Any time Drina or I tried to stop things from going the way they were meant to, everything just got worse, and I ended up sucking my husband off on my knees in a hotel bathroom with JFK still in the morgue!” Lydia shrieked. Natasha and Steve winced. “You have to be really careful when you know things like we do. That’s why I couldn’t just tell him. I wanted to, but if you rush, if you don’t think, you fuck up! And everything goes wrong. Tony, all Drina and Steve did before he went into the ice was fight and make up! She tried everything short of murder to get him to stay, and instead of being able to move on with her life, like Peggy would have if she’d been with Steve like she was supposed to be, Drina _miscarried a child_ and put herself into cryo! And we weren’t the only ones who suffered—Steve and Bucky, and Howard paid, too. We shouldn’t have ever been here. And we knew it.” She let out a sob. “You and Steve both think you carry the world on your shoulders. But it’s not true. Jesus, Tony… your father wouldn’t have wanted this for you. He wouldn’t have wanted you to take on this kind of burden. _Ask for help_.”

            “My father wanted me to do something great.”

            “And you _are_.”

            “All I’m doing is fucking it up!” Tony bellowed. “I can’t do anything right! Everyone I love ends up hurt or dead! My father’s death was my fault!”

            “There it is,” Clint muttered under his breath.

            “How in hell did you get there?” Lydia questioned, trying to ignore the fact that her heart was racing faster and faster with each passing second.

            “I was a piece of shit son,” Tony muttered, reddening at the personal confession. “If I had been around more, maybe he would have spent more time with me-”

            “That’s on him,” Lydia contradicted firmly. “That was always on him. I knew your father back in the forties, and he hadn’t really changed, ever. Ask Drina, she’ll write you a whole novel. I loved your father, at his core, he was a good person and good to me, but he was very much like you. Always in the lab, doing stupid, reckless crap, trying to save the world. And more often than not, he was oblivious to what was right in front of him.”

            “…Why didn’t you love him like he loved you?”

            Lydia paused. “Because… because he wasn’t the right man for me. He would have asked me to be somebody I’m not.”

            “Why didn’t you at least tell him he was going to die?”

            “Tony, you can’t put that on her-”

            “She said she knew, Steve! I mean, even if he wasn’t a main character in those comics or movies, he would have at least been in my backstory, right?”

            “Damn it, Tony, you can’t keep putting the burden on people who have no control! That includes yourself!”

            “I just want to know why!” Tony nearly shrieked. “He loved her, Cap, like he never loved my mother. He talked about her for years after she was gone. About how he fucked up his chance to have a life with someone he loved because he didn’t have the courage to tell her how he felt until it was too late! He married my mother out of necessity! That’s all we were to him—just necessity!”

            “That’s not-”

            “He died and left me with the responsibility of Stark Industries, which is, essentially, the responsibility of the world, and he wanted me to do something with my life!”

            “He wanted you to do anything but make his mistakes, and right now, you are failing!” Lydia shouted. “I could have told him when and where and how he would die, but it wouldn’t have done a goddamn thing to change the way things were supposed to be! I’m trying my best to help you now, Tony, because you are right in front of me and you have a CHOICE! You’re not some evil organization that’s orchestrated all this, you’re one man who can make a difference, and you don’t have to take on the whole damn world to do it! And right now, you’re being remarkably like him, Tony—an arrogant, narcissistic asshole who never listened to anything anybody had to say!”

            “Maybe you were just trying to save the wrong person!”

            “Tony, you are being completely irrational-”

            “I TRIED TO SAVE HIS LIFE!” Lydia bellowed, drowning out Natasha. “I SPENT FORTY EIGHT YEARS TRYING TO STOP HIS MURDER, AND INSTEAD, I WITNESSED IT!”

            The resulting silence was broken by a low, sobbing moan from Steve.

            “M-murder?” Tony stammered. “But… Dad died in a car crash… he hit a tree and the car exploded.” He waited, the silence in between his words pounding in Lydia’s ears like heartbeats. “Lydia…?”

            “The car was run off the road…” she whispered.

            “And?”

            “He knew people were after him, Tony-”

            “What happened to my parents?”

            “I just said it, he was run off the-”

            “You saw him die, and there’s only one reason why you would have been there! Did HYDRA do this?”

            “Yes… HYDRA did this,” Lydia answered, careful. “It was staged like a car wreck, but they wanted the serum he was carrying.”

            “Why didn’t you stop it?”

            Lydia stayed quiet.

            “You have magic, so why didn’t you stop it?”

            Steve shifted. “Tony-”

            “No! I wanna know why she didn’t stop it! She’s powerful; she could have saved the car!”

            “I couldn’t,” Lydia told him. “I couldn’t stop the car getting run off the road. I was strapped to a motorcycle, I was just trying to stay up-”

            “A motorcycle? A car was on fire and you were on a motorcycle? How the hell could you outrun an explosion like that on a motorcycle?”

            “Tony-”

            “There was no explosion… was there?”

            She shook her head.

            “Then… then you set the car on fire.” His face went white. “Was he alive when you did?”

            “No.”

            “Did… did you kill him, Lydia? Did HYDRA make you do this?”

            She shook her head, giggled, clapped a hand over her mouth.

            “Show me,” Tony demanded, his eyes cold. “Can you do that? Use your magic to show me?”

            “I’m not going to-”

            “I want the truth, goddammit!”

            “Your father wouldn’t want-”

            “DON’T YOU TELL ME WHAT MY FATHER WOULDN’T WANT!”

            “Don’t you dare shout at her,” Natasha snarled.

            Tony leaned back, inhaling deeply. “I want to see,” he demanded again, his voice breaking.

            “I don’t know if I can-”

            “Try.”

            Lydia closed her eyes; she put a hand to her head and brought out something like transparent, white smoke. It swirled in the air, then reformed itself, into figures, moving in place. The dim sound of a motorcycle revving up cut the silence.

            _“Hold on_ , мышка. _”_

            “Jesus Christ,” Natasha murmured

            “I can’t watch this,” Steve choked out, getting up.

            “Please don’t leave me,” Lydia blurted. Steve froze, then after a silent debate, slid down the wall.

            A car formed from the white smoke, then went spinning into a tree that wasn’t there. The passenger side took the impact, and Tony moaned. They watched the Winter Soldier punch through the trunk, toss the serum to Lydia, and throw the doll that was meant to be Alexandrina out of the car.

            _“Howard! Howard!”_

Tears began to run down Tony’s cheeks as he watched his father get pulled out of the car.

            _“Howard, I’m sorry… I’m so sorry. I tried, I tried-”_

            “… _Sergeant Barnes, please-”_

            A strangled cry escaped Tony’s throat, cracking when the Soldier delivered the first punch.

            _“B-Bucky-”_

The Soldier paused, crouched, and lifted Howard’s head by the hair, speaking to him.

            “What’s he doing?” Steve’s face was suddenly, tragically hopeful.

            “Asking Howard for an address.”

            Tony bellowed at the sight of the Soldier, brutally punching Howard’s face in. “That son of a bitch!” he screamed, and then—

            “ _Burn it,_ мышка _.”_

_“You son of a bitch!”_

“What—what does мышка mean?” Tony head turned to Lydia.

            It was Natasha who answered. “…It means ‘little mouse.’”

            “…He killed my mother,” Tony mumbled.

            _“Why didn’t you watch him die? Why did he call you by your name?_ _…What name did you call me?”_

Tony stopped, his brow furrowing at the Soldier’s reaction.

            _“How do you know that man?”_

_“He’s… he’s my friend… from a long time ago…”_

_“Did you love him?”_

_“Yes-” She stopped, blinking. “Oh! God, no, not like that!_ ”

            Lydia waved a hand and the smoke disappeared.

            “What… what did Bucky want an address for?”

            “He sent me away that night,” Lydia replied dully. “We got back and Pierce had Drina. She followed the car. I cut my hand off to get rid of the stupid cuff that was keeping me from doing magic, and sent her home. _Sol_ —Bucky punched Pierce and knocked him out, and made me go. He knew he couldn’t protect me, not with Pierce. Howard was a test. Pierce wanted to see how we would react, what we would do, but he wasn’t going to set up fake honeymoons and let Bucky protect me. The Russians… I told you they exploited us, they wanted an emotional reaction from me… and they were beyond terrified of what they’d created. They made a monster… and they knew they needed someone to tame him. So they used me, because I was convenient. They wanted me for my magic and got a bonus. But Pierce… he didn’t need that, he didn’t care. We might have been allowed to fuck every so often, but…” Lydia shrugged. “Pierce broke the monster to reveal a man. And then destroyed him.”

            “Where did Bucky send you?”

            “Fury’s old apartment.”

            “He _knew_ that and he never told Pierce?”

            Lydia eyed Steve. “He wanted me safe. That was always his highest priority.”

            “When we find him, we’ll be turning him in,” Tony growled.

            “Stark, have you listened to anything we just-”

            “Yeah, Rogers, I listened. I watched, too! I just saw both my parents die! And until someone comes up with a way to bring them back from the dead, I want the man who murdered them to pay for it!”

            “He didn’t _want_ to, Tony, he was _forced_ to! He liked Howard; they were friends! Howard made him this!” Lydia ripped off both her rings and threw the metal one at Tony’s eye. He never would have hurt Howard if he’d had a choice!”

            “You said he knocked Pierce out and sent you away! Tht sounds like a mind that can make choices to me!”

            “Tony, you don’t-” Lydia stopped abruptly, her mouth dropping open.

            “Lydia?” Natasha sat up. “Lydia!”

            “Pierce… Pierce said he didn’t want to get rid of me,” Lydia finally stuttered, her chest beginning to heave with a panic attack. Pierce threatened me as soon as I was out of cryo. He… he would have liked nothing better than to—to make me watch while he tortured my husband—he was that kind of person-”

            “So Barnes overpowered him and sent you out! Like I said!”

            “No,” Lydia whispered. “Oh, God, please let me be wrong-” She wiped the tears from her face. “Nat, do you still have access to everything in your data dump?”

            She nodded.

            “I need you to check all the videos on December fifteenth through the seventeenth, 1991.”

            “What are you looking for?”

            “Anything with Bucky and Pierce on it,” Lydia answered; her face was a horrible white color. “I think… I think Bucky… I think it was planned. I think Bucky asked Pierce to let me go. That punch… it was only for show. Bucky could have killed Pierce just then… and he didn’t. Pierce _never_ would have let me go like that. Not when he had a chance to make me suffer.”

            “And you think _Bucky_ _Barnes_ -” The name sounded hateful coming out of Tony’s mouth- “just asked nicely and Pierce-”

            “Oh my God, you idiot,” Natasha snapped. “No. If Lydia’s right, Barnes paid for it with everything he had left.”


	31. Pas du Tout G

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: Smut, heart to heart.

After Ultron’s defeat, the team split up; Steve and Lydia went home with Tony, who was still fuming and picking a fight every chance he could get. Natasha, Clint, and Wanda stayed behind to smooth things over with Sokovia. Lydia wondered briefly if Natasha and Clint would separate from Wanda at any point, but decided that it wasn’t any of her business.

            Steve, unbelievably sick of Tony by the end of the trip back, had to be restrained from jumping out of the still-docking quinjet, and he barged straight up to Alexandrina’s room without even saying anything to Lydia. For her part, she smirked (a little jealously) and separated herself from them by two full floors.

            “Drina.”

            She jumped a bit when her door banged against the wall. “Steve! You’re ba-”

            He interrupted her by cupping the back of her neck and smashing his mouth to hers. She opened her own mouth to say something, tried to pull back from him, and Steve brought his teeth ruthlessly down on her lower lip. “ _My turn._ ”

            Alexandrina knew she would never be able to wear this particular set of panties again.

            Steve hauled her up with one arm, hooked one of her legs around his waist, and kicked the door shut, mouth still on hers, his tongue licking, stroking, pinning her own. When his hands fisted in her hair and tugged, just barely stinging her scalp, Alexandrina groaned in his mouth. He put her roughly against the wall and she gasped, grabbing his shoulders, grinding onto him, his rock-hard cock causing so much friction against her pants that she nearly came right there.

            “Steve!”

            He pulled away from the wall, whirled around, and brought them both down on the bed, ripping her shirt in half and leaving a hickey on her shoulder. Tearing himself away from her and ignoring her reedy cry, he took off his own shirt and pants and confronted her with a massively throbbing erection. Alexandrina’s breath hitched; she reached down to shed her pants.

            “Stop.”

            Alexandrina froze, her eyes huge. He stalked to her and took her pants off himself, then gripped her panty line and tore them off with his teeth. Alexandrina whimpered, not entirely sure if she should hate the sound; no man had ever reduced her to this before—she was always in control—

            “Let go for me, baby.” He licked up her cunt and Alexandrina moaned. “Come on, sweetheart. I’ve missed you so much and I need you…”

            “Steve, what brought this on?”

            “Shhh…” he murmured against her, making her vibrate slightly.

            “Steve, what-”

            “Drina, _please_ ,” he begged. “I need you. Don’t you need me?”

            “Of course I do! I just want to help-”

            “Then _help_ me,” he rasped, his voice harsh. He licked her again, then dove in, immediately going for her clit, tongue flicking back and forth, taking every thrash of her body with ease. As her heels dug mercilessly into his back and shoulders, he added two fingers and smiled against her when she shrieked. Swooping his fingers in and out, he matched his tongue to the rhythm, stroking her clit with it in needy, insistent strokes.

            “Steve, I’m gonna-”

            “Give it to me, honey,” he told her, crooking his fingers rapidly inside her until she came. Quite deliberately, he slipped his tongue back down to her and stroked through her orgasm.

            “God, _Steve_ -”

            He left another hickey in the juncture between her right hip and her cunt, then crawled up and slid into her in one fluid motion.

            “Fffuuuuuck…”

            Alexandrina wanted, somewhere in the back of her brain, to tease him about “language”, but when he pumped twice, sliding his hand in between them to stroke himself and then her, she realized that all she could do was groan helplessly. He lifted his fingers, glistening, soaked with her come, and curiously, put them in his mouth.

            Alexandrina whined.

            “Honey, you taste _good_ ,” he informed her, and dipped his fingers in again.

            “ _Steve_ …”

            “Okay, love,” he whispered, and all at once, thrust back into her with enough force to rock the bed.

            “ _Yes_!”

            He did it again, settling into a punishing rhythm, kissing and licking and nibbling any part of Alexandrina he could reach. Her hands went to his hair, pulling hard enough to yank out strands, and he groaned at the feel of it—at the feel of _her_ , clenching around him, so close to the edge—

            They shouted each other’s names at the exact same time, each lost in climax, but unsure where their own began and the other person’s ended…

            “Drina…” Steve’s voice was hoarse, rough; she was startled out of her bliss.

            He was crying.

            “Steve, what-”

            “I’m sorry, Drina,” he muttered, his voice cracking on her name. “I’m so sorry—when we were fighting Ultron, I saw a vision-”

            “I know what you saw,” she told him, trying to soothe him. “The dance hall—Peggy said you could go home-”

            “No, you did,” he responded, and told her exactly what he’d seen, keeping his eyes on hers as he talked; Alexandrina covered her mouth when he was done, and he stroked her hair. “I abandoned you. I let you grow old without me. I never came home. Ultron was right, I don’t know anything but war, and you paid the price for it.”

            “Steve, stop.” Alexandrina chewed on her lip, a little unsure of how to continue. “He’s not—that’s not entirely right.”

            “But-”

            “It’s not,” she continued, talking over him. “Yes, you’re Captain America. Yes, that’s all you’ve ever really been. Yes, you have PTSD. But Steve, you only know war because that’s all you’ve ever been given a chance to know. You came of age in the thirties, for Christ’s sake. And then when you woke up, you went right back to serving. You couldn’t have a real, normal job before the serum, and you didn’t get to have one after, much less a real life.”

            “I had you. I should have walked away from Fury.”

            “Listen to me, Steve,” Alexandrina commanded, and took a deep breath, preparing herself. “I had a lot of time to think about… everything… before you woke up, and this… this ‘I should have done this’ bullshit has to stop. I was brought here against my will, and no one told me I had to save you. I told myself that. And I spent so much time trying to change you, trying to bully you into listening to me… that I barely even had time to love you at all. And I don’t think I loved _you_ so much as I loved the _idea_ of you. My time in cryo told me that.” She told him of her dream, but kept talking before he could say anything about it. “You are who you are—you’re Captain America, you’re a brave, unselfish, purely good person who always does what’s right, no matter the consequences. And sometimes you didn’t think of me and that pissed me off. But… for me to ask you to fundamentally change the person you were, and still are… That was wrong. I knew that. And when I finally got up the courage to admit that to myself, I started looking for someone to blame. I blamed you, I blamed Lydia—hell, I blamed her _before_ you and Bucky disappeared—I blamed Howard, and Fury…” She chewed on her lip again. “I did my best to make the whole world hate me. Howard never forgave me before he died—he told me he loved me, but he never forgave me. And I never got to really say that I was sorry. He hated me—he said that once, and he was right to. I was so preoccupied with stopping you from becoming who you already were that I never gave you the one thing that might have made you stay.”

            “Drina-”

            “Me,” she whispered. “I never really gave you someone to love. Not really. All we did was fight. We never made the most of what we had; you went on that mission knowing it would kill you because you thought you had nothing to hang on to. I never gave you someone to love, and something to live for. And I’m sorry for that.”

            “Drina, you can’t tell me not to blame myself and then put all the blame on yourself-”

            “I’m not done,” she chided, but softened it with a smile. “My point is, maybe we both fucked up. Maybe we all fucked up. Lydia didn’t tell Bucky anything at all; she wasn’t as insistent as I was, and he became the Winter Soldier, but… at least she always loved him. And he loved her. She did give him something to hang on to. And he fell in love with her all over again. But… there wasn’t really a way out for any of us. And realizing that sooner is the only thing that might have helped. It would have saved Lydia some pain, and it might have made things easier for us. But otherwise, it was a losing situation for everyone, Steve. So no more blame, okay?”

            “I do love you, Drina. You know that, right?” Steve kissed her. “Always have. And… I think it’s about time we actually get married.”

            “Don’t you want Bucky at your wedding?”

            “Well, yeah, but… haven’t we waited long enough?”

            “You deserve to have Bucky there. And for the team to be whole. Let’s wait until… Tony gets his head out of his ass. Because he has to.” She sighed. “I should go talk to him—try to calm him down-”

            “That won’t work, Drina. You’ll just end up screaming at him; you’re too alike. Someone else can talk to him; he listens to Nat. When she gets back, she can help him. Maybe she can stop the UN accords Lydia was talking about.”

            Alexandrina snorted. “If anyone can help, it’s Nat.”

            “In the meantime-” A slow smirk made its way to Steve’s face. “Can we do that again?”


	32. Pas du Tout H

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Swearing, battle scenes, allusions to torture.

Three days later, a package arrived in the mail for Tony. There was no return address. Everyone on the floor heard him scream about ten minutes after receiving it, and Alexandrina made it to his room first. “TONY? What’s wrong?”

            “No! Don’t come in here-”

            “STARK?” That was Steve.

            “NO, ROGERS, DON’T COME IN HERE-” Tony attempted to physically block both of them at the door, and failed miserably. They did, however, stop short when they saw what Tony was watching.

            _The Winter Soldier was kneeling in the middle of the circular room, close to his chair, with his hands tied behind his back and his ankles tied together. He was completely naked._

_“Untie him.” Pierce wasn’t visible, but his voice rang throughout the room. The camera wobbled. “This is a test, Soldat. If you fight back, you don’t get what you want.”_

_The camera closed in on Bucky’s face. His eyes darted to the left._

_“Maybe we should wake up his bitch and let her watch.”_

_The frame widened again; Bucky snarled at the man in tactical gear who had spoken._

_“She is only halfway through her prep. She cannot come out of the cryo tank yet; there is at least twenty-four hours left.”_

_About ten men and one woman, all bristling with weapons, gathered around the now-freed Soldat. He watched them dispassionately, and Pierce came into view. “You will be damaged, Asset. No one will be here to heal you.”_

_Soldat nodded, once. “You will let her go?”_

_“Yes.”_

_Alexandrina whimpered._

_“And you will not tell her what I’ve done.”_

_“She won’t know a thing.” Pierce took a few steps until he was just in front of Soldat and leaned down, gripping him by the jaw. “Why are you doing this?”_

_“You will leave her in peace?”_

_“Yes. Now answer me, Asset.”_

_“I love her,” he answered. “She belongs to me.”_

_“God damn the idiots who made you,” Pierce sighed. “Fight back at all, Asset, and she stays right here… and gets everything you do.” He turned to the agents. “Don’t damage his arm. No marks on his face, neck, or hands that can’t heal in the next twenty-four hours.”_

            “What is going on in here?”

            “God!” Steve blocked Lydia from seeing what was on Tony’s television, but he couldn’t keep her from hearing the sounds of a methodical, but brutal beating.

            “What the hell-”

            “Tony, turn it off.”                                   

            “Would you move, Rogers?”

            “Lydia, you don’t want to see this-”

            “Since when do you give a fuck about me, Stark? You’re too busy spewing your own problems onto everyone else to notice that we also have them, so… _move_ , Rogers, before I throw you into the fucking wall.”

            Steve moved, but Tony dove across the couch for his remote; it soared across the room to Lydia’s hand. Alexandrina covered her mouth.

            “Lydia-”

            “What?” She stood in front of the television and stared, stone-faced, at the sight of her husband, grunting softly but not struggling, being beaten by three agents. “You’re all watching this—why shouldn’t I?”

            “Lydia-”

            “Where did you get these videos, Tony?”

            “Nat.” He’d meant for his voice to be flat, but it cracked. “There wasn’t a return address, but her handwriting was on the note.” He handed her a crumpled piece of paper that read only, _You need to watch these. Do NOT show to Lydia or Steve._

Lydia flinched.

            Soldat cried out for the first time behind them. Tony snatched the remote out of Lydia’s hand and pressed a button. The television, thankfully, flipped to a news channel, and they saw none other than Natasha, her face lit by flashes from cameras.

            “…not going to put us in a prison,” she was saying. “You know why?”

            “Do enlighten us.”

            “Because you need us,” she answered, and amazingly, smiled. “Yes, the world is a vulnerable place. And yes, we help make it that way. But we’re also the ones best equipped to protect it. That contract the UN wants to draw up—you’d put us under your thumb just like HYDRA would have with Project Insight.”

            “But Ultron-”

            “Was a horrible mistake,” she interrupted, glaring down at the man who had dared talk over her.   
“The intentions were good-”

            “Intent is not the same as deed-”

            “No, it is not,” she spat, and the man in the suit shut his mouth. “But Tony Stark tried to do to the world what you are now trying to do to the Avengers—not to mention what HYDRA tried to do to the world—and I only see you condemning Tony Stark, probably because you didn’t have a hand in making that AI. So instead of, firstly, making the same mistake that Stark did and, secondly, making the world’s defenses a lot weaker as a result, you should probably be asking yourselves why Stark felt compelled to do what he did in the first place. You should not be trying to control our every action because you’re afraid of what you don’t understand. Tony Stark is one person who gave himself too much responsibility, who lost is parents when he was much too young and only wanted to live up to their example. He, unlike you, wanted to do some good in the world.”

            “His ‘good in the world’ destroyed an entire country and got several hundred people murdered, civilians and military alike! What if the remnants of HYDRA had gotten a hold of that thing?”

            “They already tried to do the same thing and failed,” Natasha answered, rolling her eyes. “And if you’re so worried about what HYDRA might do, you should also be throwing a fit because cell phones and computers—every single one that anyone owns, including yours—could probably be hacked by their agents anyway. My point is,” she continued, ignoring the protests, “that with every good thing someone tries to do, there is going to be bad. So call Stark in. Hold an international press conference. Have him pay reparations to the army of Sokovia. Hell, get off your asses and go there with him to do community service! But don’t control people who are not at fault simply because you don’t understand them!”

            “You are essentially advocating a world where no one gets punished for any sort of crime they commit-”

            “I just gave you consequences for Stark; I’m sorry they don’t match your view of what consequences are-”

            “Is it possible you only hold this view because of who your father is?”

            Natasha sat all the way up; the man who had spoken promptly quailed under her gaze. “My father has nothing to do with this, but while we’re on the subject, my father’s name was James Buchanan Barnes. He was a sergeant in the military, a Howling Commando, and a war hero, who went back into the war despite the fact that he was wounded and could have gone home! He fell from a train in 1944 and only survived because of the chemicals HYDRA put into him, against his will, under torture, the first time around. He was remade into a man who had no memory of who he had been and was tortured continually for seventy solid years. He now qualifies as the world’s longest serving POW! Inevitably, during the first five to ten years of his time with HYDRA, he would realize that something was wrong and regain a fragment of his identity, abandon the mission, and immediately start asking anyone and everyone how to get back to Brooklyn to see his wife and his best friend! _That_ was my father!” She yanked a picture out of her pocket, and Bucky, dressed in full uniform on his wedding day, stared at the camera. “This man gave up everything for his country a hundred times over. You’ve seen the videos I leaked. He is not to blame for his actions as the Winter Soldier. And Tony Stark cannot take full blame for his actions, either. If you are still so desperate to blame someone, blame the people who were the reason the Second World War happened in the first place. Nazis. HYDRA. People who deliberately make the world a dangerous place, and leave us cleaning up the mess.” She sighed, putting the picture of Bucky back in her pocket. “So if you still want to arrest me, arrest me. You know where to find me.”

            And with that, she got up and left, ignoring the camera flashes and shouted questions, and made her way smoothly toward the door, slamming it behind her.

            “Lydia… that’s your daughter,” Steve marveled, a huge smile spreading on his face.

            “That’s my daughter,” Lydia replied, her voice quiet.

            “Guys—guys…” Tony blurted, and suddenly, he burst into tears. “I—I think I need help.”

            Lydia and Steve backed out of the room as Alexandrina moved like a magnet to his side. She took him in her arms, rocking him like a child. “You have severe PTSD, depression, anxiety, alcoholism, and a bunch of other issues,” she told him gently. “Of course you need help. But there’s nothing wrong with that. Your father was wrong about that. And we can get you help, Tony; that’s why you have a team. That’s why you have me. I’ve been trying to help you for ages.”

            “I don’t know what to do anymore-”

            “Tony, you don’t have to _do_ anymore. Let us _do_ ,” Alexandrina retorted.

            “But if I’m not doing anything, what am I-”

            “You are taking a break. No, don’t give me that face,” she shushed him. “There is also nothing wrong with taking a break. How about we go on vacation while we wait for the UN to get back in contact with you? No girls, no clubs, no drinking, just you and your crazy aunt and a beach and swimming and reading? Maybe some time at a museum, time to get to know other cultures, see other places. I could take you to London! I went there three times before I showed up here. I love that city.”

            “Aunt Drina-”

            “Don’t ‘Aunt Drina’ me. We’re going on vacation and that’s the end of it.”

            “But my work-”

            “Can wait. Especially now that the UN is on your ass. Hell, it might be a couple of months!”

            “ _What_?”

            “You heard me. A couple of months. Or longer,” Alexandrina repeated.

            “But-”

            “No buts,” she objected. “You have lots of people here at Stark Industries that are perfectly capable of keeping things running. I plan on leaving in a week. And you’re coming with me. Am I clear?”

            “Yes, ma’am,” Tony pouted. Alexandrina flounced away.

 

**May, 2016**

 

“LYDIA! LYDIA, GET IN HERE!”

            “What, Steve? What is-” She froze. Her husband was on the television, dressed in the red henley she remembered from the film; he was looking up toward the camera, practically gloating at it.

            “I thought you said-”

            “That’s not him.”

            “…What?”

            “That’s not him, Steve. Bucky is in Romania right now. That’s Colonel Helmut Zemo.”

            He flinched at the hatred in her voice. “Who the hell is Colonel Helmut Zemo?”

            “A grade-A idiot,” Lydia replied, but now her voice was absentminded. “Damn it. I was hoping this wouldn’t happen. And I already told Tony, I don’t know why…”

            “Does this have to do with what you know?”

            Lydia nodded and gave Steve a condensed version of the plot of “Civil War.” Steve’s mouth was hanging all the way open when she had finished. “We have to find Buck, we have to help-”

            “I know exactly where he is. Go put civilian clothes on. Or at least put a jacket over your suit. Take your shield.”

            “Quinjet?”

            “No. I can get us there much quicker. I’m going to go get Sam.”

            Steve ran out of the room, grabbed a jacket, changed into his suit, and returned. Lydia soon came back, dragging a fully outfitted Sam behind her; she took the shield, magically shrank it, and put it in her pocket. “I’ll change it back when it’s safe,” she reassured him, handing him sunglasses and putting her own hair up into a stocking cap. She shoved a jacket on Sam, and though it bulged out, she shoved a backpack on him and hid most of it.

            “Take my hands and hold your breath.”

            Steve and Sam did s they were told; they disappeared and then reappeared on a busy street in a dirty little corner of Romania. Across the street was the farmers market where Bucky had bought his plums, and behind them was the kiosk with the newspapers, declaring the Winter Soldier the culprit of the UN bombing. “Zemo is going to be waiting,” Lydia muttered to both the men. “Sam, please go keep watch. And if something happens—and it will—get the hell out of here and make sure the others come to help. Tell them what I told you. Please—we have to keep him out of Zemo’s hands.”

            “Where do we go?” Steve asked as Sam fell behind them, keeping track as they walked.

            “This way,” Lydia answered, and set off at a quick march. She gnawed on her lip as they jogged, trying to put aside the nauseous, empty roiling of her stomach. _There’s no time to think about any of it,_ she told herself firmly, shutting down the emotions threatening to rise, just as she always had. _Not the last time we saw each other, not the twenty-five year gap, not what might happen now. He’s in danger, I have to protect him._

“Lydia-”

            “Don’t, Steve.”

            He quieted. Lydia found the apartment building and went into the lobby, despairing silently at the shabby, rundown state of it. _Oh, Bucky…_

A little old lady, wearing a blue headscarf, was slowly but determinedly making her way across the hall towards the staircase, carrying a large bag of groceries.

            _“Send me a smile, won’t ya?”_

_The lady in the blue headscarf next to Bucky on the train yanked him backward—he smacked his head on the window and Lydia burst out laughing—_

“Here, let me help you with that, ma’am.” Steve reached for the lady’s bag and she babbled at him in Romanian.

            “Let us help,” Lydia told her, and received a jolt when she realized she was speaking in Romanian.

            _Did HYDRA program that into me too? How much do I not remember?_

She huffed and took a couple of the bags.

            “Our handyman sometimes helps me with these,” the lady was informing them, smiling. “He’s a big man—even bigger than you!” She poked Steve. “He always eats all the food I make for him. She stopped and eyed Lydia. “You look very much like his wife. He’s got an old picture of her… but he said she died.”

            “Please… ma’am,” Lydia choked out. “Which is his apartment?”

            She pointed to the door across from hers. Steve set the bags down and promptly strode over, picking the lock and walking inside.

            “St- _Steve_!” Lydia hissed, leaving the woman standing there, confused.

            “What?”

            “ _Steven Grant Rogers_ , put that notebook down now,” Lydia snapped. “Honestly, you have no manners!”

            “Your name is in it.” He turned it toward her. Taped next to the picture of Steve, on the opposite page, was a photo of her, stolen from the Smithsonian museum exhibit. Under it, in Bucky’s tentative handwriting was her name.

            _Lydia. Wife._

 _Squeaky._ Мышка.

            “Lydia… look.”

            She snatched the notebook out of his hands and set it back on the shelf, frustrated. Steve had opened one of the cupboards. A bright green spatula caught her eye before she looked in the cupboard and saw—

            “God…”

            A large box of chocolates, unopened, sat in the cupboard.

            “He bought it for you…”

            “Jesus Christ, Steve, close the cupboard and quit pawing through his things. You’re so rude.” She shut it, nearly on his fingers. “And that’s not why he bought it, don’t be ridiculous-”

            “Yes, it was.”

            Both of them jumped.

            “You… you liked chocolate. I used to… send it to you. Even when I couldn’t… write you letters.”

            “Buck, do you know me?” Steve spoke in the silence, while Lydia kept her back to them, fighting down the sickness in her stomach.

            “You’re Steve,” he answered, after a pause. “I read about you in a museum.”

            Steve raised an eyebrow. “…Were you in Vienna?”

            “No. I didn’t do that.”

            He nodded. “Well, the people who think you did are coming for you. And they’re not planning on taking you alive.”

            “That’s smart. Good strategy.”

            Steve chewed on his lip, then blurted it out. “You pulled me from the river. Why?”

            Bucky shifted slightly. “I don’t know.”

            “Yes, you do.”

            “For God’s sake, stop pushing him, Rogers!” Lydia snapped, and finally, turned around.

            Bucky was there, still as large and imposing as he had been, but deliberately attempting to diminish himself now; he hunched forward, pulled his jackets closer to himself, wore his cap low over his eyes. “…Lydia…”

            “…Bucky.”

            She tried to touch his hand, and he pulled back, skittish. “I—don’t. Please.”

            Lydia nodded. “Do you want your ring back?”

            He took a measured breath. “You… you keep it. For now. It’s been safe with you.”

            “Bucky, I-”

            “Guys?” Sam’s voice came, crackling and dim, over Steve’s walkie-talkie. “Guys, they’re coming. Now.”

            “Grab my hands.”

            “No, Lydia, they might be expecting that.” Steve stopped her. “And with Drina and Tony gone, if the UN is involved in this, and I’m sure they are, Maria Hill will have to let officials into Stark Tower.” He sighed. “Buck… this doesn’t have to end in a fight.”

            “It always ends in a fight,” he murmured, and ripped his glove off. His metal hand gleamed in the yellow afternoon light.

            “Buck, we can-”

            Everything happened at once. Both the door and the window caved in as soldiers peppered them with bullet holes; Lydia snatched the notebook and the pictures off the shelf, shoved them in her backpack, and then raised a hand and threw two SWAT team members through the wall. Bullets pinged off of Steve’s shield, and Lydia raised her other hand, froze the bullets, and turned them back towards the shooters. Screams erupted in the hallway. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Bucky toss Steve out of the window as though he weighed nothing, using his body as a weight to drop the two shooters behind them. They crumpled, and Steve clambered back in. Lydia turned again just in time to see Bucky ruthlessly smash a cinder block into a man’s chest. A bullet whizzed past her head; Bucky blocked the second one with his metal hand, then punched the shooter in the face.

            Lydia’s breath caught.

            Another hail of bullets came in; Bucky and Steve moved together, shield up, Bucky’s right arm protectively around his old friend. The bullets once again froze in midair and turned back, giving Bucky just enough time to tell Steve, “Get down to the third floor. There’s a side entrance there. You can take the stairs out the back way. We’ll meet you the next street over.”

            Steve nodded. One last undaunted SWAT team member barged through the wreckage and raised his gun. Bucky rolled his eyes, blocked the bullet, wrestled the gun away from the man, and smashed him in the head with it.

            “Buck, stop!” Lydia heard the surprise and the undercurrent of horror in Steve’s voice, and rolled her own eyes. “You’re gonna kill someone!”

            “I’m not gonna kill anyone,” Bucky snarled, grabbing Steve’s shoulder to make a point. “ _I don’t do that anymore.”_

            He threw himself out the door. More men were in the stairwell; Lydia ran out just behind him and sent jets of magic at them. Bucky came up next to her and threw one particularly brave one down a flight of stairs, catching Steve’s eye on purpose. “They’re blocking the entrance,” he growled. “And I bet they’re all over the damn street by now. Not even you could fight your way through that.”

            “Wanna bet?” That was Lydia, grinning.

            The corner of Bucky’s mouth turned up. “Not against you, doll.”

            Against his better judgement, Steve ran out, heading for a back entrance. Bucky groaned, barged into another apartment, went onto the balcony, and picked up his wife, hooking her legs around his waist. “Hold on, doll,” he instructed, his lip twitching again.

            “I feel like a damn spider monkey.”

            “I think you feel better than that,” he muttered. Just before he jumped off the balcony, Lydia felt his rock-hard erection pressing against her.

            “A little help, doll?”

            _Wingardium Leviosa,_ her brain dryly supplied, and she raised her hand, slowing down their fall so Bucky could land neatly on his feet.

            They peeled apart. “We gotta-”

            “A black shadow darted in front of them and knocked Bucky off his feet. They rolled and twisted, Lydia running helplessly after them, unable to get a clear shot. Bucky was slammed up against a wall, and before T’Challa, fully armored, could take a swipe at his face, Lydia smashed him ruthlessly into the wall right beside Bucky. “You keep your hands off my husband!”

            “He is your _husband_?”

            “I didn’t kill your father!” Bucky got to his feet.

            “Then why did you run?”

            “Oh, I don’t know,” Lydia spat, trying to keep the hysteria from her voice and failing. “Maybe he ran because some idiot dressed in a cat suit came out of nowhere and tried to claw his face off, after a good four dozen men loaded up with semi-automatic weapons tried to kill him!”

            “ _Shut_ _up_.” Lydia thought she heard him mutter “whore” under his breath.

            Bucky bellowed and threw himself on top of T’Challa, punching him repeatedly, then slammed his head into the concrete. “NEVER. CALL. HER. THAT. AGAIN!”

            “Bucky, stop! _Stop_ _it_! We have to go!”

            He got off T’Challa, who was winded, and stood to his full height, panting. “You… you should go back to New York.”

            “What?”

            “I’m not safe, you’ll be constantly on the run with me-”

            “Barnes, shut up right now,” Lydia interrupted, now running alongside him. “I came to get you. We’re going to fix this.”

            “There are over a hundred nations after me-”

            “One hundred and seventeen. And Steve and I will make our way through all of them if we have to so you can be safe again.”

            “Lydia-”

            “You’re my husband, I love you, and that’s the end of the discussion.”

            “BUCK!”

            “Steve! Sam!” Lydia waved them over, then, after Sam’s nod, waved her hand and sent him to find the others. “Look, we have to-”

            “Fuck,” Bucky muttered.

            “What the hell is that?” Steve squawked as Bucky took off.

            “That is T’challa,” Lydia answered. “He’s the new king of Wakanda. Hold your breath.”

            Steve did; he and Lydia disappeared and reappeared next to the highway. They could see Bucky running closer, T’Challa right behind him. Steve ran to intercept, but T’Challa dodged him—Lydia lifted her hands—

            She barely avoided a head-on collision, and instead, ran after them, using her magic to disappear and reappear, throwing lethal jets of light in between. Steve was catapulting over moving cars, throwing his shield at the ever-moving target of T’Challa as he ran. They left the first tunnel and Bucky nearly lost his footing avoiding a swipe—

            And then suddenly, he skidded, grabbing at a moving motorcycle in midstride. The unfortunate man riding it went flying off as Bucky shouldered him aside and straddled the motorcycle in midair, landing on it hard before going at full speed into another tunnel. Lydia used her magic again, catching up as T’Challa and Steve came after them—Lydia saw T’Challa climb up the wall and pull the motorcycle hard to the left; it veered and Bucky threw out his metal arm—sparks flew on the asphalt—

            T’Challa pulled Bucky off and the motorcycle flew backward, right into a car’s windshield—the two men rolled over and over as the driver panicked and flipped the car behind them—Lydia avoided it, running into the middle of the street, trying to catch up to her husband as Steve came barreling in at the last second—

            And suddenly, there were men all around them, holding weapons and screaming—T’Challa threw his hands up, Lydia lifted hers, but not to surrender—she felt a prick in her neck and saw Bucky forced to his knees before the world went black.


	33. Pas du Tout I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: Swearing, character death, the Winter Soldier is activated.

“TONY! NAT! CLINT! WE HAVE TO GO NOW!”

            “Relax, Aunt Drina, they’re just bringing them back to the facility in Washington D.C.-”

            “No, Tony—you don’t understand—one of the men who got to them wants to use Bucky to wake up other supersoldiers—he knows how to activate the Winter Soldier!”

            “Shit,” Nat muttered, knocking over the chessboard on which she and Clint had been playing. “Drina’s right. We have to go-”

            “Nat-”

            “Tony, you _know_ I want to keep us together, because you are my family, but this is not the way to do it!” she shouted over him. “The government can’t be trusted! They’ve been corrupted, we’ve already seen that it can happen! Hell, I only signed that contact because they knew I used to work for the KGB and they would have thrown me in a prison cell otherwise! Drina says that one of these men is going to hurt my father and I trust her! You should too, _especially_ since you can’t seem to trust yourself!” She looked at him in disgust. “If you had trusted her in the first place and looked past your own goddamn ego, you never would have built Ultron and we wouldn’t be in this fucking mess. _Now call for the goddamn quinjet!”_

            -Tony walked off without another word.

            “Nat, don’t you think you were a little harsh-”

            “I’m just so fed up with him,” she sighed, her face pinched. “If it weren’t for him, we wouldn’t be separated at all. I want my family back together—and somebody had to be harsh with him. He doesn’t respond to incoherent screaming and slammed doors, Drina. He responds to firmness and authority.”

            “But I’ve taken care of him-”

            “I don’t mean mothering,” Natasha clarified. “That’s only with girls he wants to fuck.”

            Alexandrina opened her mouth, then shut it. “You are entirely too much like your mother.”

            Natasha’s eyebrow quirked.

            “So… so you’re saying… I’ve been no help to anybody… not Tony, not Howard, not-”

            “You’ve helped Steve plenty. He wouldn’t have had anything to live for when he woke up if you hadn’t been here.”

            “He was fine in the movies,” Alexandrina muttered. “That’s why he got back into being Captain America-”

            “But this isn’t like those movies from your home. Steve met you in the forties and he loved you, more than he ever could have loved anyone but Bucky; he loved you more than he would have loved Peggy Carter, too. You and Steve were just as special as Lydia and Bucky. If you hadn’t been there after he woke up, he probably wouldn’t be alive right now. You’re everything to him.” She smiled. “And you should stop comparing this world to those movies. It might help you.”

            “…Thank you, Nat.”

            “Come on. Let’s go help them.”

 

Lydia groaned. Everything hurt, especially her head; the way it throbbed reminded her of the time when she had slammed her finger with a hammer, instead of hitting the nail she had meant to. When she tried to lift one hand to investigate, she saw that her hands, and also her ankles, were tied together, held by handcuffs on a chain that was, unfortunately, too short to wrap around anyone’s neck. She was wearing her old cuff on her left wrist.

            “There’s no reason to tie her up like that.”

            “Of course there is. She is a threat.”

            At the sound of Zemo’s voice, Lydia sat up with a groan, but a horrid, nauseating pain went through her brain and knocked her flat on her back.

            “…What the hell is this?”

            “I have some information that you may be interested in, James,” Zemo began, spitting out Bucky’s legal name in a disgustingly gloating tone.

            “I thought you were here to help me.”

            “In a sense, you could say that. I am here to try and bring you home.”

            “Stop fucking lying, you-”

            Zemo slapped Lydia. Bucky roared and fought to get out of his restraints.

            “Oh, please, when I’m finished, you’ll want to slap her, too. As I said, I am here to try and get you home. Which is not Romania. Certainly not Brooklyn. No, I’m talking about-”

            “You’ve got it wrong.”

            “Don’t deny it. Your handlers were the only family you had. And as for your little whore-”

_“Don’t call her that!”_

            “You did,” Zemo said, leering. “шлюшка. Little slut. cука. Bitch. And she loved it… But I digress. HYDRA is your home, your life. It owns you. And you both know that. She knew that. She always did.”

            “What the fuck are you on about?”

            Zemo delivered a swift kick to Lydia’s shoulder; she screamed as she felt something dislocate. “She never told you, did she? She could have saved your life. None of this had to happen. …And she didn’t tell you.”

            “What the fuck-”

            Zemo pulled a hard drive out of his pocket and inserted it into a computer. He clicked on something and a video came up on the wall. Red Skull and Zemo were sitting at a table, staring in awe at a red stone floating just above them. At times, it flowed like a liquid, then hardened back to a shining jewel.

            _“How do we know this will work?”_

_“My dear Zola… we do not. It is an enormous risk. We could rip the very fabric of our existences—of everyone’s existences—apart. But it is a risk we have to take. These girls are exactly what we’re looking for. Of all the women in all the realms on every plane, the stone showed us these women. They will help us accomplish our goals.”_

_“But we saw where they came from… they know who we are! They see the future! What if they tell the men the future and try to stop us?”_

_“The damn stone_ itself _may try to stop us,_ Herr Zola. _It has a…a conscious—it is somewhat sentient. But we will prevail. This… Alexandrina will give us the child of Steve Rogers and Lydia… she will craft us a_ Soldat _more loyal than even Steve Rogers could give us. From the second she sees him, she will prime him for HYDRA. We have seen the outcome in their world. We can change it in ours.”_

_“What will you tell this Lydia?”_

_“The truth… or most of it. I will tell her that we had no control over when she arrived her. If she knows too much, she may distance herself from him.”_

_“And what these women know… it doesn’t frighten you?”_

_“No.” Red Skull smiled. “Being on that plane was actually my salvation—when I died, I ended up in the realm with the reality stone, took it for myself, and brought myself right back here. That wasn’t a coincidence. We will get what we want in the end.”_

The video clicked off.

            “…You… you knew?” Bucky pulled at the restraints again. “You knew? You’re HYDRA?”

            _“No!”_ Lydia screamed, heedless of the pain in her head. “I’m not HYDRA—I never knew how I got here until Red Skull told me—he lied to me—please, Bucky-”

            “WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME?”

            _“Would you have believed me?”_

_“Why didn’t you tell me not to go to war?”_

“Bucky, you were _drafted,_ you would have been thrown in prison for dodging the draft-”

            “THAT WOULD HAVE BEEN PERFECT FOR YOU!” he bellowed. “I WOULD HAVE BEEN A SITTING DUCK, AND I WOULD HAVE BEEN SPARED FROM LOVING YOU! My _God,_ they had you controlling me from the very start, didn’t they? They just needed me to fucking _imprint_ on you like… like some _animal!”_

“Bucky, no—that’s not true-”

            “Is that why you showed up in Romania? To get me here? Because that’s what it seems like!”

            “No—I love you-”

            “STOP LYING!”

            “As amusing as this is…” Zemo interjected, “I really have to get on with it.”

            “You _fucking son of a bitch_!” Lydia screamed. “You fucking miserable, goddamn son of a bitch, no one cares that your fucking family died—why don’t you just put a fucking gun to your head and get it over with-”

            Zemo kicked her; Lydia felt teeth crack, and blood ran down her chin. “желание.”

“No…”

            “LEAVE HIM ALONE-”

            “ржaвый.”

            “No.”

            “Семнадцать.”

            _“Stop.”_

            “Рассвет…Печь…Девять.”

            Bucky was yanking hard at the restraints now, teeth bared—he freed one arm—

            “добросердечный… возвращение на родину-”

            “NO!”

            “Один!”

            Bucky punched through the glass—

            “грузовой вагон!”

            The door of the containment cell broke under Bucky’s hand and flew off to the side. Bucky went to his knees.

            _“Soldat?”_

“я готов отвечать.”

            Lydia moaned, half from pain, half from desperation.

            “Kill her.”

            _Soldat_ looked over at Lydia’s crumpled form, eyes flicking over the dirt and blood on her, taking stock of her injuries.

            “Do you know her?”

            “нет—no.” He caught himself, switching to his new handler’s language. “Why must she die? She poses no threat.”

            With a supreme effort, Zemo kept himself from rolling his eyes. “On the contrary, she poses a grave one. She is a powerful witch.”

            _Soldat_ flinched.

            “Don’t be afraid, _Soldat_. She cannot harm you with that cuff on. But if we leave her alive-”

            “Yes.” He got to his feet and took two long steps until he stood over his wife.

            “I love you. I love you. I’m so sorry-” Her own scream as Bucky gripped her dislocated shoulder cut her off.

            Lightly, almost tentatively, her brushed his metal fingers across the skin of her neck, and then wrapped his hand around it.

            “I love you-”

            He began to squeeze. Lydia moaned, trying to get away from him, squirming weakly—he pulled her flush to him and she heard his accelerating heartbeat under her ear—she caught a glimpse of the restaurant where she and Alexandrina had been having lunch—

            Just before he snapped her neck, Lydia saw bright red blood, pouring from nowhere.

 

“BUCK, NO!”

            _Soldat_ turned, letting the woman’s body slide to the floor. He hadn’t wanted to kill her, true, but it was a mission—surely it didn’t warrant _that_ reaction—

            The blond man shouted and came for him; _Soldat_ matched him blow for blow until he gained the advantage with a strong Spartan kick and slammed the man back first into a concrete wall. He went down and didn’t get up again.

            “Get to the helicopter outside, _Soldat_. Go to your headquarters in Siberia. I’ll have more instructions for you once I arrive.”

            _Soldat_ obeyed, heading upstairs. There were more people up there, and he sighed—they were waiting for him, waiting to stop him from carrying out his mission—

            “HOW COULD YOU? THAT WAS LYDIA! THAT WAS YOUR WIFE!”

            _Soldat_ threw the screaming woman with red hair off to the side and her head hit the ground, cracking horribly. A man with black hair and slightly similar features to her screamed and came at him with a gun. It was almost too easy to rip the gun from him and pull the trigger. Unfortunately, the man’s glasses were bulletproof, so _Soldat_ landed a brutal punch to his stomach, which knocked him flat. A blonde woman tried to roundhouse kick him, so he snatched her ankle and threw her; a man in black engaged him and actually managed to hit him in the face, and it enraged him—he tried to punch back and the man got a hold of his arm, controlling it. _Soldat_ bared his teeth, but the man threw him off the balcony, then jumped after him. _Soldat_ went for him—he got hit again, but this time, _Soldat_ bellowed and punched the man in black so hard that he slid all the way across the room before flipping over a table. Finally, he turned to the idiot who was about to shoot him with an arrow and snapped his bow in half.

            “Aw, come on-”

            _Soldat_ went into something like a bow as someone, also with red hair, came forward and slammed herself headfirst into his stomach, then turned herself on him before he could get a hold of her and crushed his neck between her thighs, pounding furiously on his head. He stepped around, trying to throw her off, then slammed her onto the nearest table, wrapping his metal hand around her neck. “You could at least recognize me,” she choked out, and tapped his wrist with her right hand first, and then her left.

            _Let me up._

            He did, then made his way out of the room, leaving them all bruised and battered in his wake. The face of the dead woman, broken, popped up in his brain and he growled, ripping open the helicopter door, climbing in, and starting it up.

            To his utter dismay, the blond idiot came bursting out of the door and ran straight for the rising helicopter. _Soldat’s_ eyes narrowed; he was fairly sure that was Captain America and that he’d already killed the puppy-eyed bastard—

            The man leapt, and just managed to grab onto the helicopter. _Soldat_ felt it dip and looked out the window.

            _The fucker was pulling the helicopter down._

It dipped again—scraped the ground— _Soldat_ tried to accelerate it, and it spun completely out of control. Swearing loudly, he ripped the seatbelt off and ducked into a ball as it skidded right to the edge of the launch pad. When the helicopter stilled, he looked back up and saw Captain Goddamn Fucking America creeping around the side, obviously looking for him.

            He waited—waited—

            And punched his arm right through the glass, choking the man—squeezing relentlessly…

            The helicopter groaned, and then suddenly tipped over the edge. _Soldat_ lost consciousness before he hit the water.


	34. Pas du Tout J

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: Difficult choices are made, mention of a breakdown, Nat has a talk with Steve, crying

_“Lydia? Lydia?”_

_“Mom?” She stopped, staring, and took a couple of steps toward the blurry figure._

_“How are you? We’ve missed you. It’s been so long.”_

_“Wait, what-”_

_“Oh, it’s okay, sweetie. You’re not actually in the afterlife. Not yet, anyway. You died, so the stone is giving you a choice.”_

_“Wha—what? What do you know about it? Wait. Are you dead? Are you in some sort of limbo? Is the stone using you?”_

_“Honey, technically, I am the stone.”_

_“Wait… wait, you know what, no. I’m not even gonna. Just… what the fuck is going on?”_

_“Don’t cuss. I told you, you have a choice. You have died, but you traverse two realms. You can choose one now. Here… or your original home.”_

_“But… I would stay dead here, wouldn’t I?”_

_“No. Because you currently exist in two realms, your soul has been split. Your choice would bring your soul back together. You would continue to exist in either realm, as if nothing had happened here.”_

_“Oh… so once I choose, it’s like I never died.”_

_“Correct.” Her ‘mother’ frowned. “But once you choose, the realm you pick is the only realm in which you will exist.”_

_“I can’t live in them both at will?”_

_“No. A fully human body was created to only exist in one realm at one time. By bringing you here while you still existed in your original realm, Red Skull and Zola violated the laws of physics and of nature… and many others that you’re not meant to understand. The stone has been keeping you alive and functional. A part of it lives in you and Drina. Now that you no longer exist in one realm, your soul has been reunited with itself and can continue to exist, without the help of the stone, in one realm only.”_

_“So… I’m an unwilling Horcrux and this is the pause button.”_

_“If you choose to see it this way, then yes.”_

_Lydia considered for a moment, and then sank down, overwhelmed by the implications of the conversation. She felt herself fold into a sitting position, though no chair appeared. As if to taunt her, images of the people and places that she had dearly loved flashed in front of her, wispy and dim, but heartbreaking all the same. Her friends, her family—there was her father, being a total goof, drinking his daily three o’clock espresso and eating his mini Snickers bar, singing, ‘Part of Your World’ as loudly as he could do his coworkers. There were the people who listened to live music with her at one of her favorite restaurants; she had called them her ‘Thursday friends—and there was the owner of the restaurant, who she never failed to jokingly flip off every time she saw him. She saw her best buddy, driving someone in his van—how he had managed to become an Uber driver, she had never quite understood, because there he went again, drifting over nearly all the way into the other lane. Lydia snorted. An image of her other favorite restaurant, this one closest to where she lived and worked, popped up; her favorite bartender—her friend—was pouring someone a bright blue, clear, crisp martini. Lydia smiled, remembering suddenly that she had made that herself; apparently her drinks had stuck around, even if she hadn’t—_

_“Wait. What’s been happening while I’ve been gone?”_

_“You were brought to this realm in the year 2017. Currently in your original realm, it’s 2016. Just like here. Your home as you know it has not caught up yet.”_

_“I was taken from home in 2017, but since I appeared here in 1943, the timelines were off and this one needs to catch up?”_

_“Correct.”_

_“So what happens when it’s 2017 here?”_

_“If you hadn’t been killed, that is when you would have had to choose.”_

_Lydia winced. “So… Alexandrina will eventually have to choose, too.”_

_“Yes.”_

_Lydia huffed, the edges of jealousy in the sound. She was ninety-nine percent sure that Alexandrina had the easier choice, and if she did choose to stay, it wouldn’t involve the monumental fight Lydia knew would come after she chose to stay. A wispy figure of Steve, small and frail, but big-hearted, righteous and strong, formed in front of her, and she batted it away in irritation. Alexandrina did have it easy. Steve had changed, but he remembered who he had been, remembered Alexandrina, and she knew him, in a way that Lydia now realized that she had never quite known Bucky. He appeared before her, first as his old self, in a sleeveless shirt and underwear, making coffee and humming to himself, then in his tactical gear, kneeling at the window to shoot President Kennedy in the head. The two kept flashing back and forth, and Lydia thought at first that it was because she couldn’t discern the two._

_“You cannot_ reconcile _them.”_

_Lydia turned toward the woman who looked like her mother, but was not, and sighed. “What do I do? Either way I lose everything.”_

_“That isn’t necessarily true. But when you make the choice, there will be consequences.”_

_“They set me up,” Lydia muttered, and felt her heart break. “They brought me here to use him. I fell right into their trap. None of it was real; I did exactly what they wanted me to. He was right—they just needed him to imprint on me. Why didn’t I-”_

_“Why do you expect so much of yourself? This was not your choice. You genuinely loved him, and he, you. That does not change just because Red Skull and Zola wanted something from you that they didn’t get.” Her mother smiled. “Reality is a tricky thing. It has a way of balancing itself out. What needs to happen, happens, what does not need to happen, does not. There are many choices that each person can make in his or her lifetime, and each choice only leads to more choices. There is never only one option. Red Skull and Zola did not understand what they held in their hands. They thought they were guaranteeing a future, but they were really only choosing one path. Not even the Reality Stone can guarantee someone’s future.”_

_“He’s everything to me,” Lydia said softly. “But I wasn’t supposed to be here—I suppose we didn’t have counterparts, did we? No one whose places we took?”_

_“You did not. Howard Stark never had a sister, not on this plane, and she never had a friend named Lydia.”_

_“And other planes?”_

_“Perhaps, perhaps not. You need only concern yourself with this one. If you try to suddenly understand all of them, you’ll overwhelm yourself.”_

_“Good point.” She covered her face. “But that doesn’t change the fact that they brought me here to use Bucky.”_

_“They brought you here to do exactly what you did,” her mother chided gently. “They brought you here to love him, and hoped that he would love you. When they got a hold of the Reality Stone, they saw bits and pieces of the results of many choices they could make. They chose this. They chose to bring you here, despite the fact that they knew what it would cost them.”_

_“What do you mean?”_

_“Remember that Red Skull told Zola that he didn’t die in the plane crash, but instead was transported to another realm where the Reality Stone existed and he was able to use it? He chose to bring you here and live again, even though that he knew that he would, in fact, end up dead this time. Zola paid as well—he is also dead, with his consciousness gone from the computer it was uploaded into. They made their choices. Yes, they brought you here hoping from something from you, but they didn’t get what they truly wanted, and they paid for it. Now you must make your choice.”_

_Lydia inhaled. “So… in 2017, the timeline will catch up at home, and the years here and there will match. What happens then, if I stay here?” She froze. “It’ll be like I never existed at home, won’t it?”_

_“No. An emissary, someone who can travel the realms, will be sent to explain things to anyone you wish. Plausible excuses will be made if you do not wish for that. As I said, reality has a way of balancing itself.”_

_“Oh God—my parents—they’ll need to know what happened to me—this will crush them-”_

_“Then you choose to stay in this realm, with your husband?”_

_“No, wait! I haven’t made my decision yet!”_

_“You should be aware that time is still moving in both realms.”_

_“Shit. And I’m lying there dead. Awkward.” Lydia stopped. Stay or go? Lose her chance to regain her old life, make it better, or stay, and lose her husband to… what?_

His own goddamn self.

            _And would she regain her old life at all, if she left? She had a gut feeling that if she chose to go back to her old home, that she would not forget the life she had lived here…_

_And who she had become._

_“I’m staying,” she announced, and the woman who looked like her mother smiled._

_“You have the Reality Stone in you,” she said, her tone cheeky. “If you like, you can use it for one thing. One wish. Is there anyone you would like to bring? Anything you would like to change?”_

_Lydia blinked. “Are you serious?”_

_“Yes, I am serious. The Stone’s power is within you. It is part of you, and you are part of it, for a little while longer. You can alter reality, in one way, if you choose to do so.”_

_“Get rid of Thanos,” Lydia answered, with no hesitation. “I mean, I don’t know how the laws of anything work, and I don’t know where to send him, but please. Without completely disrupting anything… make sure he doesn’t go here, or to my old home. Please keep him away from everyone that I love. I just want peace here, and I want to know that those I love at home are safe. No Thanos.”_

_“No Thanos. That can be arranged. Is there any message you would like me to convey to those you love when the time comes?”_

_“Tell my parents I love them,” Lydia answered, her voice quiet again. “And that I’m sorry I didn’t come back. Tell them I found someone who I love dearly and who I’ll be married to for a long time… I think. Like they are. Tell my friends I’ll miss them. Just—please make sure everyone knows how much I love them. Because… I’m not sure my husband will anymore.”_

“…Are you okay, Steve?”

            “…Yeah. I just managed to get the bastard who activated the Soldier.” He blinked and wiped a hand across his forehead. “Where’s Tony?”

            “Gone,” Natasha muttered, her voice sad and exasperated. “He had a nervous breakdown when we told him Drina might have brain damage, if she wakes up from her coma at all. He ran out to the nearest quinjet and took off in it. I can only hope it’s on autopilot.”

            “And the others?”

            “Sam and T’Challa are guarding Barnes and Zemo. Clint is… getting food, I think. He’s been trying to make me eat something all night.” She rolled her eyes, but Steve detected a hint of fondness in it. “Sharon has gone to the UN to speak on Bucky’s behalf, and hopefully either get him a trial… or make it unnecessary. Germany and four other countries have already backed her, including Romania. They panicked when they saw the torture tapes. Sharon thinks more nations will follow them if someone… not deeply involved with him… speaks on his behalf.”

            “Nat-”

            “Don’t.”

            “Nat, come on, you’ve gotta-”

            “I don’t _have_ to do anything, Rogers,” she spat, and then chewed her lip. “It happened, it was an accident-”

            “Have you seen her?”

            “Why the hell do I need to see her?”

            “Because you need to acknowledge that she’s gone. You need to make it real. I had to do that when my mother-” He paused at the look on her face. “Nat, she _was_ your mother-”

            “I never _needed_ a mother-”

            “It’s not about whether or not you needed a mother, it’s that you had one and she’s gone-”

            “Well, then, I don’t need to mourn a mother!” Natasha shouted, standing up and knocking her chair over. “It’s not like I ever had one, even after I met her! She didn’t raise me—we didn’t even _know_ we were related until Pierce told us, and it’s not like she magically became my mother after we found out—Jesus, Steve, I’m a grown woman, I can take care of myself; I never wanted a mother and I damn well told her so!”     

            “Jesus _Christ_ , Nat-”

            “What? It’s true. I didn’t have parents. I grew up in _ridiculous_ circumstances, and we both knew that! I can’t believe this, everyone is just fucking expecting me to lose my shit, and you know, I’m sad she’s gone, she was my friend, and she was a hell of an agent— _what_?”

            “Is that the only context you can think of people in? ‘Friend’ and ‘agent’?”

            “Friend is a pretty big step for me, Rogers.”

            “Not really,” he countered. “I know you, Nat. You have your father’s heart and your mother’s strength. You are much more than anyone made you—much more than you give yourself credit for. Barton knows that, too. And yeah, if you are more, it means you’ll have to function like a normal human being. It means you’ll have to acknowledge that you have your own personality, something that sticks. And you’ll have to feel.” He looked her right in the eye. “You’ll have to be more than Black Widow. And right now, that means mourning. If not your mother, then mourning what you never got the chance to have.”

            Natasha opened her mouth, closed it, and burst into tears.

            Steve took a step forward to hug her, then jumped when she moved backward.

            “Don’t fucking touch me, Rogers.”

            “Oh my God, Nat-”

            “Get out, Barton!”

            “But I brought you cupca-”

            “OUT!”

            He ran. Steve snorted, dug around in his pocket, and offered her a handkerchief.

            “Damn, Rogers,” she muttered, loudly blowing her nose. “You still carry these things around?”

            “I’m nothing if not consistent.”

            “There’s a box of tissues right over there.”

            “But this has a _daisy_ on it.”

            Nat pocketed it. “I’ll wash it for you, then… what the _fuck_?”

            Steve turned. A half-mist, half liquid, red substance—Steve couldn’t decide which—was leaking under the curtain around Lydia’s hospital bed. He and Nat blinked, looked at each other, and threw the curtain open.

 

Lydia could see herself lying on the hospital bed, and at the same time, could still feel herself on it. She was in both her old body from home, and the one she had been in for seventy-three years; the feeling both intrigued her and made her sick. Down on the bed, the red stone surrounding her made her flash back and forth between old and new. Suddenly, her spine lengthened, her bones cracking, her cheekbones sharpened, her hair darkened a little more and grew, her neck and shoulder healed—Lydia felt something coming together…

            Maybe it was her soul.


	35. Pas du Tout K

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Swearing, use of magic, sad Bucky, sad Lydia, SMUT. Once Upon A Time reference.

“Lydia?”

            Her eyes flashed red, then went back to normal. “St—Steve?”

            “What the hell.”

            “It’s a long sto-” She was muffled by Natasha, who dove on top of her, hugged her fiercely, then threw herself backward. “Uh… story.”

            “I don’t know how to have a mother,” Natasha muttered, gruff, wiping her nose on the back of her sleeve.

            “I don’t know how to be one. We’re even.” Lydia sat up, woozy, and both of them put a hand on each of her shoulders. “Where’s Bucky?”

            “Downstairs. T’Challa and Sam are with him. We got Zemo, too.”

            “You got Zemo?” Lydia squawked, and threw herself out of bed. “Wait—where’s Drina?”

            “Over here,” Steve sighed. “She—Bucky—the Soldier—he threw her, and she hit her head pretty hard. She’s in a coma—Lydia, can you fix her?”

            “Yeah, I can. Don’t worry, Steve.” Lydia got up and went to Alexandrina’s bedside, healed her, and put her into a normal sleep. “Let her wake up on her own, okay? She needs the rest.”

            “Lydia… you’re shorter.”                         

            “What?”                                        

            Natasha gestured at her legs. “You’ve shrunk a couple inches. Your eyelashes are longer and your eyes are a different color. What gives?”

            “That’s part of the story,” Lydia answered, half running down the stairs. “I’ll tell you later.”

            “Lydia, you might want to-” Steve stopped, sighing again, as Lydia kicked open the door, strode right up to the bound and gagged Zemo, and ripped out his heart. All four men in the room and Natasha shouted, and Bucky promptly fainted.

            Lydia ignored him and yanked the rag out of Zemo’s mouth, listening to him stutter for a minute before squeezing his heart.

            He moaned. “How-”

            “Never fuck with anything you don’t understand,” Lydia hissed. “Now do you want to explain yourself before I leave you in so much pain that you’ll never think straight again?”

            “I—I-”

            “You _what_?” Lydia snarled. “You lost your family? Well, cry me a fucking goddamn river, you worthless piece of shit. So have I. Twice now. And I might again, because my husband may never get over what you made him do to me. We all have loss! The man you chose to exploit lost _everything_ about himself, including his free will and his dignity! You put him right back in the spot he’s been trying to get out of for two years! And he did nothing to you!”

            “The Avengers-”

            “The Avengers stopped the thing that murdered your family and then cleaned up the fucking mess!”

            “An _Avenger_ built Ultron-”

            “Yeah, and what you—and Tony Stark, ironically—don’t seem to fucking understand is that when you have issues, you don’t spew them all over everyone else! You deal with them in a healthy goddamn manner without hurting anyone else!”

            “Who in hell is capable of that?” Natasha piped up.

            “At the very least, you could internalize the issues and only hurt yourself because you know that hurting other people is a shitty thing to do!”

            “Stark and the Avengers deserved to pay for what they did to my family-”

            “Vengeance is complicated!” Lydia interrupted him, rolling her eyes. He shrank from her as she squeezed his heart again. “So Ultron killed your family! The Winter Soldier killed Stark’s parents! You took custody of my husband against his will, took me against mine, triggered him, and ordered him to kill me, and technically, he did! So everyone’s lives suck!”

            “You-”

            “Me nothing. My husband never chose any of what happened to him. He was _drafted_. Captured in 1943 and experimented on, then taken and remade after he fell off that train. They tortured him for years! They turned him into something ugly and awful, and they set me up to tame him. That’s what they brought me here for. To fall in love with him, to make him imprint on me so I could tame the Soldier later.” She rolled her eyes. “Tony has a world of problems. And they don’t excuse him at all, but it does contribute to his behavior. I’ve been through seventy years of crap-”

            “Why don’t you just shut up and kill me, you miserable little bitch-”

            “You’re lucky my husband is still out, or you’d get your head bashed in. before I had a chance to finish.” She smiled amicably, and Steve, who had been about to say something, went utterly still. “I told you vengeance was complicated, and none of the Avengers deserve what you did to them. Yes, they fucked up, yes, your parents are dead, but even Tony doesn’t deserve how you prompted him into breaking up his family. He loves these people, and now they’re all fighting over these stupid Accords, and for what? Because you think that somehow, you’re the only person who’s ever been hurt that much? Would you like to be in Bucky’s place? Or mine? Or Steve’s, or Natasha’s?”

            “My _parents_ are _dead_ -”

            “So you mourn and move on, instead of completely fucking everything up! Taking vengeance is bullshit, and none of these people deserves what you did to them, Zemo!”

            “Vengeance is not the way,” T’Challa said softly. “You have let it consume you. I am done letting it consume me. My father and your Barnes-” Here he addressed Lydia and Steve—“were both victims.” He sighed. “I will do what I must to protect them.”

            “So, then…” Zemo blinked. “You’re not going to kill me?”

            “Of course not,” Lydia answered, and then suddenly, smiled. At the sight of it, everyone in the room, including Bucky, who had just woken up, shuddered in horror. “That’s what you want. See, even though I just advocated for everyone here not to take vengeance on people who wronged them, and T’Challa made an excellent point, I really don’t give a fuck. So you’re going to live, Zemo. That’s my vengeance on you. You’re going to live without your family, knowing you’ve lost everything, knowing that those you love would be disgusted with what you’ve done. You’re going to live with the knowledge that you failed, that you couldn’t protect your family, that you couldn’t even honor them.” She slammed his heart back in his chest. “Just like I have to.”

            She punched him; his head hit the concrete wall, and he was knocked out. Lydia turned away.

            “…Lydia…”

            She paused.

            “…How…?”

            “You know me?” she demanded. Bucky hung his head, and Lydia instantly felt regret.

            “You’re my wife,” he whispered. “We got married… on December sixteenth, 1943. You wore a pretty dress… and I think you were mad at me because of it, but I can’t remember why.”

            “You’d just spent all your money on my ring,” Lydia answered him. “It was from Paris… you never told me how much it was, but I knew it had to have been monstrously expensive.”

            “Worth every penny, love,” he murmured, but flinched away from her left hand when she offered it to him.

            “Buck… do you know me?” Steve cut in, his hopeful face nearly breaking Lydia’s heart.

            “You’re Steve Rogers… Stevie,” Bucky replied tentatively, a small smile sneaking onto his face. “Your mother’s name was Sarah…” His smile widened. “You used to wear newspapers in your shoes.”

            “How did Zemo manage to get you to forget Lydia?” Sam asked. “She said you never forgot her, not in forty-seven years-”

            “He only used the temporary triggers,” Bucky answered, his lip curling. “The permanent ones he should have used first were meant to tie me to something… keep me loyal to HYDRA or the KGB… He got them out of the book.”

            Lydia went over to Zemo’s limp form and dug in his pockets until she produced it. “He means this,” she said, and offered it to Sam. “It’s a record of how the Winter Soldier came to be.”

            “Of course it’s red,” Sam quipped, and opened it. Promptly, he made a noise that was somewhere between a squealing brake and a dying hyena. “What the fu-”

            “Sorry, should have warned you.”

            “If… if these triggers…” Sam gagged, then got a hold of himself. “If they were temporary triggers, why didn’t he look in here for the permanent ones, too?”

            “They were destroyed,” Bucky sighed. “Well. Changed from the original, and then the records were destroyed. So Zemo essentially activated the tree without putting down roots first. And those roots…” He shot a glance at Lydia, then looked back down at the floor.

            “Why the fuck would you destroy the records of the permanent triggers?”

            “That was Sash—Pierce,” Bucky said, his eyes widening at the slip-up. Lydia blinked, reached for him, caught herself, and put her hand down. “He changed the permanent triggers the Russians put in me… to change me… to take away my memories of… being with the Russians.” He swallowed. “He wasn’t afraid of me like the Russians were; he broke me. They tamed me.” He locked eyes with his wife. “He would dehydrate me, starve me, have others… do things to me. I was fed through a tube. I never actually slept—I was either awake or in cryo. He wanted a machine—but machines malfunction.” Here, he offered Steve a weak smile. “But when he first took over, he thought he could get it, so he changed the permanent trigger words, memorized the ones he created, and destroyed the records of both sets.”

            “All that was left in the book were the temporary ones,” Natasha finished.

            “Natalia…”

            “It’s Natasha now,” she contradicted, a little tersely. Steve put a hand on her shoulder.

            “Did I… teach you anything worth remembering?”

            “Of course you did.” She pulled away from Steve. “I… have to go apologize to Clint.”

            “Who?”

            “Clint Barton. Hawkeye.”

            “Arrow Boy?” Bucky’s nose wrinkled.

            Sam snorted.

            “He bought me cupcakes,” Natasha snipped, and then flounced out.

            “ _Seriously_?”

            “Seriously,” Lydia repeated, smiling tenderly at her husband. “Don’t worry—he’s the best one.”

            “Hey!”

            “I’m not taking anything away from you, Sam.”

            He humphed so loudly they almost missed Bucky’s muttered words. “…One of them was _elle.”_

“The letter L? What are you-”

            “No. The word _elle_.” He spelled it out. “It’s French… for ‘she.’”

            “Son of a bitch,” Steve growled.

            “Language, Cap,” Sam teased, smiling a little.

            Steve rolled his eyes. “Nobody in here cares, do they? Lydia?”

            “Fuck, no,” she answered, and smirked.

            Bucky’s eyes brightened. “You tripped over something. I think it was your shoe,” he interjected, his voice a little absentminded. “You swore… a lot. And you were loud. I knew I loved you right there. I carried you back home and… we-” He stopped.

            “Was that the night of the Expo?” Steve pressed, his cheeks suddenly pink.

            Bucky nodded, his own face reddening.

            “You two _slept together_? On the night you met?”

            “Connection,” Bucky answered, a little bitterness in his voice.

            “Oh please, Steve,” Lydia told him, a little louder than she meant to be, “the only reason Drina didn’t jump you that night too is because she knew it would literally kill you to have an orgasm.”

            Sam burst out laughing, and Steve went purple. “So…” He coughed. “What exactly did Zemo want? Was there another reason he did… all this…? Or did he just want to break up the team?”

            “I think he was going to use me to go back to Siberia and get the other Winter Soldiers.”

            “What?”

            “I wasn’t the only Winter Soldier,” Bucky quietly informed them. “There were a lot of them. There would have been evidence on the tapes Natal—Natasha released.” He saw Steve’s eyes flutter and hung his head in shame. “I knew this was going to happen.” He let out a sigh. “Between us, we spoke thirty languages, had the most up-to-date military training, in the field and out… we could go around the world and infiltrate any government and you’d never see us coming.”

            “That doctor… Zola… could he control them?”

            “Enough.”

            “They all turn out like you?”

            Bucky raised his head to meet Sam’s eyes. “Worse.”

            “Where are they?” T’Challa, who had been relaxing against the wall, now stood up straight.

            “Still in Siberia, hopefully.”

            “It stands to reason that if Helmut Zemo would send you after them, any remnants of HYDRA would seek them out as well,” he answered, his face grave.

            “Shit,” Steve muttered.

            Natasha poked her head back in, and Lydia took notice of the fact that she and Clint were holding hands. “Guys, none of us could get a hold of Tony,” she announced, biting her lip. “Barton and I are going to try and find him.”

            “Do you need any help?”

            Natasha shook her head and Steve spoke up. “No, Sam… can you stay here with Wanda and Vision and watch over the Tower? It turns out, Lydia and Bucky and I are going somewhere, too.”

            “Where?”

            “Siberia.”

            “And me?”

            “T’Challa…” Lydia said softly. “You should take Wanda and Vision back with you to Wakanda. Would you let us come there if anything goes wrong?”

            Bucky’s eyes flicked to her.

            “Of course, Mrs. Barnes… and I apologize for slandering you on our first meeting.”

            “Oh… it’s not a big deal,” she told him, pink.

            They both heard a loud rumble from Bucky, clearly indicating disagreement.

            “If I may ask… how are you alive? Your neck was completely shattered.”

            Lydia took a deep breath and told them what had happened to her while she was in the hospital bed, linking it back to the day she and Alexandrina had arrived and the day of her confrontation with Red Skull, then sharing the revelations the Reality Stone had given her. She was met with a heavy silence after she had finished.

            “So… Siberia?” Natasha attempted, her voice cracking a little.

            “Can… Can Lydia and I have a minute?”

            They turned as one, and left Bucky and Lydia alone.

            “Doll…” he began, “I don’t want you going to Siberia.”

            “ _Excuse_ _me_?”

            “You could get hurt. HYDRA could be waiting for us there-”

            “And I have _magic_ -”

            “Which didn’t prevent you from dying by my hand!”

            “You can’t keep me from helping you, Bucky-”

            Gently, he lifted her wrist, then let it drop. “Zemo has the cuff in his pocket. I’ll put it on you if I have to.”

            “James Buchanan Barnes-”

            “I _killed_ you!” he shouted, hiding his face in his free right hand. “I’m not safe! I could do it again! And this time, you’d die for real!”

            “ _Bucky_ -”

            “I couldn’t live with myself if you died because of me! Hell, I’m not sure I can live with myself anyway! I can’t lose you aga-”

            “BUCKY, I HAVE TO HELP!” Lydia held her face in her hands, and quite suddenly, burst into tears. “I have to help you. I _have_ to… to make sure that you know our marriage… our whole goddamn relationship… wasn’t just bullshit. And God help me, I know it was, Bucky, it was all a setup from the second I saw you at the library, but-” She hiccupped. “But I love you, Bucky, you’re my husband and I love you, and I chose to stay here, and I’m not going to watch you hate yourself because of this asshole!” She prodded Zemo’s unconscious form. “I couldn’t save you. You can’t just go off and-”

            “Stop.” His hand found her cheek, and he cradled it. “You know none of that is true. Christ, Lydia, you’re the smartest person I know, so stop being ridiculous. That’s not true, that’s only what they wanted from us. But I don’t think any of what we had was bullshit. You’re my wife. You’ve been my wife for nearly seventy-three years. I love you.”

            “But you were so angry…”

            “I was wrong. What happened to me… it was never your burden to bear. I knew that. I was just angry and confused. I wish I hadn’t had to find out about you from Zemo, but I can understand why you didn’t tell me. I… I definitely wouldn’t have believed you… not right away. It would have most likely been too late for me by the time I did.” He chuckled. “I always knew you were a different sort’a dame.”

            Lydia smiled through her tears at the sound of his long-absent Brooklyn accent. “I love you. I’m sorry.”

            “Don’t be. There’s nothing to be sorry for.” He let go of her cheek.

            “You’re never going to look at me the same way again, are you?”

            Bucky closed his eyes.

            “…Are you sure you want to go back to Siberia?”

            “I gotta go, doll,” he told her, and grimaced. Lydia did, too. “These soldiers… they’re worse than me. And you know… you know. If anyone from HYDRA wakes up one of them, the world will forget about me in a second.”

            “That sounds lovely.”

            Bucky’s mouth turned up, but the smile wasn’t genuine. “I know. I have to go take care of that… and then I want to go to Wakanda.”

            “Really?” Lydia braced herself.

            “…You know… don’t you?”

            She nodded. “You want to leave me again?”

            “Don’t say it like that!” He sighed. “I need to. To protect you. Everything HYDRA put inside me is still there. I _killed_ you. You can’t explain that awat, baby, and I know you want to, but… you can’t. Until someone figures out a way to get this shit out of my brain, then going back under is the best thing… for everybody.”

            “That’s a lie and we both know it.”

            He brought her close with his free arm; Lydia undid the restraints and he put his metal arm around her, too… after the briefest of hesitations. “I think we just wish it was,” he told her quietly.

            “Bucky, I think I can do it—I have magic, I might be able to fix it—I mean, all we need is some time to do research-”

            “Then do it,” he said, offering her an encouraging smile. “But let me sleep safely while you get your Ph.d in neurology, okay?” At the sight of her crestfallen face, he kissed her forehead. “When you’re done, I’ll wake up and we can continue right where we left off.”

            Reluctantly, Lydia nodded, and then went to kiss his mouth. Abruptly, he pulled away from her, alarmed. “Don’t.”

            “Bucky—is this just you being paranoid about touching me because of Zemo, or-” She went white. “Is it because of what Pierce did-”

            “No,” he interrupted, clenching his jaw. “It’s… not that. It’s what I did to you. I can’t… I can’t touch you like that again. I don’t trust myself.”

            “Huh?” she blurted, honestly confused, and then blinked. “What you did to me? Bucky, what are you talking about?”

            “How I treated you when we-” He caught himself, flushing a dull red. “I was horrible to you and I-”

            “ _What_? Bucky—that was—no—Bucky, I wanted it!” Lydia finally yelped. “I wanted it. I _needed_ it. I liked it. Every time. And I didn’t just want it because it was the only real interaction we had.”

            “HYDRA made me different,” he muttered, his face still red. “Maybe they brought out something I didn’t know was there. They made me a monster, Lydia. And not just in the field. They knew it was going to be like that—that’s why the brought you, and I fell for it. I thought you were a whore and I used you. I don’t know what kind of man does that to a woman he’s supposed to love, but-”

            “You did love me,” Lydia interrupted firmly. “You told me so. And you told me to remember, just in case you forgot.” She huffed loudly at him when he tried to protest over her. “And I told you. I liked it. Even in 1943, when you pinned me up against the wall after you got back the first time. Some men do those kinds of things in bed, Bucky. They’re called Dominants. They take full control in the bedroom. You can do research on it. It’s acknowledged as a normal, regular thing. Sometimes it even goes outside the bedroom into life. It’s perfectly fine if the proper information, negotiation, and consent is involved-”

            “Which we didn’t have, so what does that make me?”

            “Well, it’s not like we had access to the Internet in 1963,” she quipped. “But Bucky, there was not one thing you did without asking me if I wanted it or if I was okay, even when you were pissed at me for fucking up your shot at Kennedy. And you _always_ made sure I was all right afterwards—which is the right way to do that kind of thing. You didn’t do anything wrong.” She caught his eye and held his gaze. “I love the man I met in 1943. I love my _Soldat_. I love the man I was introduced to again in 2016. They’re all _you_ , James Buchanan Barnes. And I love you.”

            He caught her mouth with his, kissing her deeply, and Lydia responded with fervor, tangling her hands in his hair. Bucky moaned in her mouth and cradled her face in his hands, shifting so that Lydia was sitting astride him. She waved her hand and a fluffy white quilt appeared under them, then carefully healed the scratches on his face.

            “Doll… let’s take each other like this. Sitting this way,” Bucky breathed, stroking her hair, her face, her shoulders. “I want to be right next to you. Equal. I want to hold your hands look in your eyes when you come… even though they look different.”

            “I’ll explain that later,” she promised, taking a deep breath and removing his red henley.

            “Was it the Reality Stone? The soul merging thing you mentioned? …Those are yours from before?”

            She nodded.

            “I love them. They’re so beautiful,” he murmured, kissing her eyelids. “You’re so beautiful… and you’re shorter now, too, aren’t you? Now you really are a мышка.”

            Lydia snorted, kissing his neck and collarbone, leaving small marks everywhere she could. He moaned again and ripped her shirt in half, sliding it off so he could palm her breasts through her bra. Lydia shimmied out of her pants, deliberately grinding on him, and was rewarded with his deep-throated growl.

            “My wife… my мышка… God, my sweet Squeaky…” He began to stroke her clit after she used her magic to rid herself of the rest of her clothes, easing his finger back and forth inside her as he moved his thumb in slow circles, then added another finger, shifting a little and picking up a rhythm. Her hips jerked. “I love you… I love you… you’re so pretty, sweetheart… open your eyes now, doll baby, look at me-”

            Lydia came with a long sigh, yearning and soft, her eyes wide. Bucky stroked her through her orgasm, lengthening and deepening it, crooking his fingers as he clenched repeatedly around them.

            “You feel so good… help me, sweetheart, get these damn pants off-”

            Lydia waved her hand; his jeans flew to the other side of the room and hit the wall, rather hard.

            “Got something against them, doll?”

            She smiled, rolling her hips, and he groaned. “They’re in the way,” she teased, soaking his cock in her come.

            Bucky grinned, positioned them both, and thrust up into her, and she cried out.

            “Lydia, are you-”

            “So good, Bucky, yes!” she stammered. “I mi-missed you…”

            “I know, baby, I missed you too,” he soothed, thrusting again, and soon she matched him thrust for thrust. “Come with me… you think you can?”

            “ _Yes_!” she rode him faster, burying her face in his shoulder; he lifted her head and entwined their hands, so tightly that they both felt a sting of pain in the flesh.

            “Lydia-”

            “Bucky-”

            Neither of them cried out, or even spoke when they came; their bodies snapped together and then gave way. Neither of them was entirely sure which orgasm was theirs. Both of them slowly stilled, each listening to the other’s breathing, Bucky staying inside his wife, reluctant to leave her.

            Finally, he ran a finger across her jawline.

            Lydia nodded, her face grave, but resolute.

            “Barnes! Lydia! I thought you said you were—the _fuck_?”

            Natasha was standing at the door, her mouth hanging open, Clint just behind her.

            “I thought you guys and Steve were gonna go to Siberia,” Clint stuttered, the smallest of smirks on his face.

            “I’m not going,” Lydia answered, her words slightly muffled by the quilt, which she had just managed to throw around herself and Bucky.

            “Why not?” He nudged Natasha, who ignored him.

            “I’m going to Wakanda. To do research. Neurology research. To see if… we can get the triggers out of Bucky’s head.”

            “You can’t just make them go away with magic?”

            “No, I could fuck up his whole brain if I just went in there without knowing what I’m looking for and where it is.”

            “Good point. Uh… Drina’s awake. Steve’s with her now.”

            “Is she okay?”

            Bucky winced.

            “Thanks to you. So how come you can heal her without any research, but not Barnes?”

            “Because there’s a difference between healing and changing,” Lydia explained. “I just put Drina back the way she was. Bucky’s entire physical and mental makeup was changed, and the serum was a huge part of that. If I try to just take him back to who he was without the trigger words, it might fuck up the effects of the serum, too. My magic has never worked well with technology.”

            “Oh. So-”

            “Barton, enough. We’re leaving.”

            “What? Nat, I thought we were gonna get tacos!”

            “No, fuck—I mean, screw—goddamn it, we are not getting tacos!” She dragged Clint back out and slammed the door behind herself.

            “We can still scar her. Impressive,” Bucky murmured, and stole a kiss.


	36. Pas du Tout L

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Allusions to smut, swearing, dirty talk, discussion of Dom/sub relationships, Steve and Bucky have the heart to heart they really should have had in CW, I fixed a thing, cliffhanger ending.

“So do you want me to go to Wakanda?”

            “I would prefer that, yes,” Steve said carefully. The look on Alexandrina’s face spoke of a bratty attitude and/or broken possessions in his future. “If we get there and those soldiers are wake, or HYDRA is there-   ”

            “I get it, Steve.” Alexandrina heaved a sigh. “When does this end? I just wish we could have a normal life.”

            “Me too,” he whispered, and she knew he meant it.

            “Don’t do anything excessively stupid, okay?”

            “You know he can’t tell the difference between what’s excessive and what’s not,” Bucky joked, leaning against the doorframe now, clutching Lydia’s hand.

            “Goddamn it, Buck!”

            “Language, Stevie.”

            “That’s rich, you taught me every Russian swear word in the book!” Lydia shot at him.

            Bucky smirked. “When we get home, I’m going to fuck your sweet cunt so hard, you’ll be sore for a fucking week, baby doll,” he whispered in her ear, in Russian.

            “What?”

            “Absolutely nothing, never you mind, Rogers.” Lydia’s face flamed.

            “Well, at any rate… we should go.”

            Bucky and Lydia stepped away.

            When they had gone, Steve turned back to Alexandrina. “Once this is all over, I’m gonna marry you,” he said softly. “We’ll move into that house Howard bought us and have a real quiet life. Maybe start a family.”

            “Steve, that house is over seventy years old, it’s probably long gone-”

            “…I bought it, Drina.”

            “Huh?”

            “After I… froze… I guess Howard used it as a rental property. When he died, Tony inherited it. I bought it from him, right after I woke up and… you know, got my bearings.”

            Alexandrina’s face broke into a slow smile.

            “It’s ours now, honey. As soon as this is all over, we’ll move in, start a family hopefully get old…” He smirked. “Together. At the same rate.”

            She jumped into his arms and kissed him. He caught her easily in one arm, smiling against her mouth. “Okay—okay, Drina, we gotta go.”

            “Promise me.” She grasped his shoulders. “Promise me! Seventy-three years is long enough, Steve!”

            “Drina, I’m so sorry-”

            “I didn’t want you to apologize, Steve; we’ve been through all of that. Just promise me we can have a life when you come back.”

            “I promise, Drina.”

 

With Clint and Natasha already long gone (sans tacos), Sam, Wanda, and a slightly overprotective Vision, who had come back after a disastrous attempt to negotiate the Sokovia Accords with the UN, set themselves to protecting Stark Tower. Rhodey had gotten in contact with both Natasha and Sam, and was now apparently traipsing around Italy, looking for Tony, while Natasha and Clint covered the rest of the world. Lydia, Alexandrina, and T’Challa with Zemo as their drugged-up cargo, left in one quinjet, intending to deliver him to Sharon Carter, who was currently fighting one hundred and seventeen governments on Bucky’s behalf. Steve and Bucky left in another quinjet, headed to Siberia.

            “Buck, it’ll be fine,” Steve soothed as he started up the jet. “All you gotta do is pull their plugs, right?”

            “Yeah, but…” He bit his lip. “I’m not sure I’m worth all this trouble, Steve.”

            “Don’t be an idiot,” Steve retorted. “Of course you are. We wouldn’t be doing this otherwise. And if Lydia heard you say that-”

            “I know, I know, I just-”

            “What you did all those years… you didn’t have a choice. It wasn’t you.”

            “I know… but I did it.”

            “Bucky, _you didn’t have a choice_ ,” Steve reiterated, annoyed. “Now stop being stupid, that’s my job.”

            Bucky closed his eyes, oping out of the opportunity afforded to him by the remark, and pictured his wife’s face. It was a little different— _well, no, a lot different—_ from the last time he had seen her, and not just because of what the Reality Stone had apparently done. Her eyes were harder, lonelier, her mouth naturally set a little tighter, as if constantly bracing herself for something. And yet, she still looked at him as openly as honestly as she always had, ready to take him as he was, in spite of the fact that he really _was_ a monster, no matter what she said.

            “Hey, Steve… can I use your laptop?”

            “Yeah, sure… why?”

            “Research.”

            If his suspicions were correct, Bucky Barnes would never see his wife again.

 

Zemo woke up on the trip to meet with Sharon Carter and T’Challa took enough pity on him to stuff a few Saltine crackers and some water down his throat. Lydia had been all for not feeding him, but T’Challa’s insistence that he be clearheaded when they arrived swayed her.

            “Where are we landing?”

            “The Mall.” T’Challa guided the jet into a turn.

            “What ma— _the_ Mall?” Lydia squawked. “You’ve got to be kidding me!”

            “It’s the only space big enough,” he responded reasonably. “And if we hover, people will be able to get out of the way first.”

            “Well, we wanted attention,” Lydia muttered.

 

“What are you researching?”

            “Nothing.” Bucky slammed the computer shut as Steve came back to sit with him after putting the jet on autopilot.

            “Yeah, right. A minute ago, you were staring at the screen like you’d never seen a laptop before.”

            “It’s none of your business.”

            “Well… we have ten hours left. I’d like three hours of sleep.”

            “Take five. Make it even.”

            “Nah. You need it more than I do. Just watch the plane.”

            Bucky rolled his eyes, but obligingly, cleared his history and got to his feet. Steve grabbed a pillow and a blanket and plopped in the chair his friend had just vacated.

           

As Lydia had predicted, their landing in the middle of the Washington Mall had been, to say the least, eventful. The sight of a hovering quinjet had sent people both scattering and reaching for their phones—sometimes in the wrong order. By the time they landed, three-fourths of the American Congress, the President of the United States, and all one hundred and seventeen government representatives were gathered on the grass and the front steps of the Capitol. When Lydia and T’Challa exited the plane, Zemo, and finally, Alexandrina right behind them, all with a shield of protective magic shimmering around them, the crowd gasped, shrieked, and backed away as though they all had just encountered a three-headed demon.

            “WHERE IS SHARON CARTER?” Lydia bellowed.

            The head of the UN pushed his way forward. “What is the meaning of this?”

            “You listen to her!” Alexandrina screamed over the quieting jet.

            T’Challa winced.

            “I don’t know who the hell you think you are, you little-”

            “I am Alexandrina Stark,” she interrupted, rising to her full height. “Howard Stark was my brother. Steve Rogers and I are engaged. And you don’t get to speak to me like that, dumbass.”

            “As fascinating as this is-” To their surprise, an exasperated Elizabeth Warren stepped forward. “—you should probably come inside, and bring your… charge… with you.” She gestured to Zemo, talking quickly with the representative of his country’s government.

            “Senator Warren?” Lydia blurted.

            “That’s Madam President Warren to you.”

 

“What the _fuck_?”

            Bucky put the plane on autopilot and charged back into the cabin. “Steve, what’s wrong?”

            Steve turned the laptop. On it, Bucky saw a picture of a woman, in a ridiculous, yet somehow sexy lace number, tied to a bed, looking rather like a pretzel, and blindfolded. He froze.

            “Why—why are you looking at this? Lydia-”

            “Don’t even go there, Steve.” Bucky clenched his jaw a couple of times, fighting two sets of instincts, and thankfully, the more rational one won out. “That’s my research. I told you not to look at it. I cleared my history!”

            “I was curious.” It was almost a puppy’s whine; Bucky cold practically see his tail between his legs. “You aren’t planning on… doing any of that, are you?”

            “ _That is none of your business_.”

            “Bucky, I just… I thought it was something about your triggers-”

            “So you thought it would be okay to look into my computer search?” Bucky’s eyes narrowed. “Is nothing mine?”

            Steve blinked and promptly dropped the laptop. “Buck, I didn’t mean-”

            “You fucking picked the goddamn lock on my goddamn apartment door and broke in, Rogers! And not only that, you went through my cupboards and looked through the notebooks I kept my memories in, for Christ’s sake!”

            “I didn’t think-”

            “You never did.” Bucky’s tone was soft, but he might as well have screamed; Steve flinched automatically as if he had. “You never even asked yourself if I _wanted_ to be brought back, did you?”

            “Why the hell wouldn’t you-”

            “What do you mean, why _wouldn’t_ I?” Now Bucky did yell, and Steve’s mouth dropped in surprise. “They took away every memory I had, Steve! I was the Asset, in one form or another, for seventy years! For twenty-three of those, I never slept, I was fed through a tube, and I wore a catheter! Do you understand how long it took me just to relearn how to control my bladder?” He took a trembling breath. “I squatted in an abandoned building for six months, trying to relearn how to pee and what sleep and food were. I stole it until I remembered that you don’t steal, you buy things, and then I had to remember what to buy things with! I was hanging around outside a bank, trying to decide if I should rob it to get money, because I didn’t remember how I should get a hold of any, when a guy came up to me and asked me if I could do heavy lifting. I hoarded everything I bought with the money he gave me until I remembered I could always buy more.” He sighed. “I know you don’t understand, Steve. I didn’t even know I was a human. So yeah. I would have preferred to be left alone… because now I have to _live_ with everything.”

            “Bucky, I just wanted to help you-”

            “Don’t you dare pretend like you did this for anyone but yourself,” Bucky snarled. “You may have wanted to stop them hurting me, but you did it for you. Maybe you didn’t realize it at the time, but you did it for you. You saw me and all the guilt you’d been holding in—wrongly, I might add—from nineteen forty-fucking four showed up, and you just went for it. The one time you shouldn’t have been selfish, you actually were. And I paid for it. I’m still paying for it.”

 

Once she had recovered from Lydia’s impulsive, squashing hug, President Warren led Lydia, Alexandrina, T’Challa, and Zemo directly into the House of Representatives. It took everyone a full ten minutes to get back in their seats, and Lydia spotted Sharon up at the front. “I haven’t spoken yet,” she told Lydia in an undertone. “I swear, everyone is deliberately trying to keep President Warren off the entire subject.”

            “Figures,” Alexandrina spat.

            “Now that you’re here, though, we’ll have to bring it up.”

            “So what kind of session is this?”

            “It’s not,” Sharon answered. “Not a normal one, anyway. I called President Warren and asked her to convene everyone after the UN bombing. It’s been a few weeks and she finally managed to put this together… despite the fact that everyone wanted to come here at a moment’s notice right after the bombing and only put it off because she asked them to hear Bucky’s side of the story.”

            “The misogyny… it hurts…” That was Alexandrina.”

            Lydia and Sharon both snorted.

            “Agent Carter.”

            Sharon straightened and joined President Warren on the podium.

            “Hey, Drina. I gotta pee. Wanna join?”

            “What the hell? That’s terrible timing!” Alexandrina hissed.

            “Bladder doesn’t care,” Lydia muttered.

            “Okay…” She followed her friend out, shooting a nervous, sheepish look back at T’Challa.

            Lydia walked her outside the chamber, dragged her down a hallway, and shut them both in a utility closet. “You’re a Stark, you’re a genius, right?”

            “Um… I guess so?”

            “Great. Then you can tell me who has the bomb in there.”

 

“Bucky… you’re my best friend—you’re the closest thing I have to a brother! I had to save you from HYDRA! Especially after I couldn’t before!”

            “That’s the problem, Steve. I’m not… I’m not your Bucky anymore. I’m not ever going to be him again. And you can’t make me into him. No matter how much you blame yourself for what happened to me.”

            Steve opened his mouth to retaliate, and suddenly, just froze.

            _“You’re not getting your best friend Bucky back… he’ll be something in between.”_

_“It was his choice. You’re only one man.”_

“They were right… the girls were right. And I didn’t listen to them.”

            “What?”

            Steve held his head in his hands. “Buck… I… I think I fucked up.”

            Bucky raised an eyebrow and sat in front of Steve. “You didn’t fuck up. You just didn’t think it through.”

            “I never did,” Steve answered, echoing his friend. “And you paid. Every time. Every time I got beat up, you were there, saving my ass. HYDRA took the whole 107th because you were my friend. The train… you didn’t have to go back, I knew that, but I still asked you. I brought you back… made you go through everything you went through, and then I came to you in Romania—shit, I led Zemo straight to you! And now… this shit with the other supersoldiers and Tony-”

            “Steve, that’s too much to take on. Stop giving yourself more guilt.”

            “You sound like Drina.”

            “Well, then, listen to her.” Bucky caught his friend’s eye and held it. “You have to stop taking on the burden of the entire world. You are blaming yourself for the wrong damn things. You wanna blame yourself for something? Blame yourself for expecting too much from everyone. Me, Drina, yourself. _Stop_. Alexandrina is going to kill you eventually if you keep doing this.”

            “I don’t know how to stop,” Steve choked.

 

“What do you mean, who has the-”

            “Someone in there has a bomb, Drina. I think I know who it is. But I need you to confirm it.”

            “How do you know?”

            “I just do. My magic’s fucking up. Now tell me.”

            “Lyd, that’s agent stuff-”

            “Don’t call me Lyd, I don’t go over a Tupperware bowl.”

            “Seriously, though-”

            “Alexandrina. Every important, relevant government representative besides Vladimir fucking Putin is in there right now. It is the perfect setup to utterly destroy the entire establishment in one shot _. I need to know who has the bomb before the damn thing goes off._ You just said you’re a genus. Who. Has. The bomb?”

            “This doesn’t need a genius,” Alexandrina muttered. “Zemo does.”


	37. Pas du Tout M

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Huge chapter. The battle scene in CW between Tony, Bucky, and Steve. Swearing. Mentions of past smut, angst, mentions of bombing and death. Tony is a giant asshole, not without reason. Blood and battle. Yup yup yup.

Bucky and Steve had traveled the rest of the way in silence. They landed the jet as close to the old complex as they possibly could, and Bucky led them down to his old headquarters.

            When they arrived, they found all thirty supersoldiers in their cryotanks, dead and in the midst of decomposing.

            “What in the hell-”

            A loud band sounded somewhere nearby, and Steve stepped away from the bodies. “Where did that come from?”

            “Upstairs,” Bucky muttered, and ran, his gun raised. Steve hurried after him, and at his gesture, knelt in front of Bucky and guarded him from the waist down.

            The doors slid open and Tony stepped out. “…Testy much?”

            “It’s been a long day,” Steve snapped. “What are you doing here, Tony? Natasha and Clint have been looking for you.”

            Tony shrugged. “That Zemo sent me a package in the mail a couple of weeks ago. Had a note in it telling me to come here. So I did. And when I got here, there was another package. So I opened it.” He gestured to a dusty computer screen, on and blinking. “There was a tape inside. It was of my parents being murdered. But it wasn’t just that.”

            Steve blinked. “Tony, we told you—Lydia told you, it wasn’t him, HYDRA had control of his mind-”

            Tony burst into giggles and, oddly, stuck his finger down his throat. “Apparently, not enough control. He still fucked his wife right over their dead bodies.”

            Bucky’s gun wobbled.

            Steve’s mouth opened, but before either he or Bucky could protest, Tony went to the screen and pressed a button. There was the same burning car, the same forested area that Steve had seen in Lydia’s memory, but it was a slightly different angle. _“Don’t you tell me what to do, James Buchanan Barnes!”_ Lydia screamed onscreen, and they saw Bucky cock his head in confusion.

            “See, I told you-”          

            Tony held up a hand; Steve went silent, watching. Bucky, still holding the gun, shrank away from the screen in shame.

            _“We were just friends…”_

 _Soldat yanked Lydia close, wiped his metal hand on his pants_.

            Steve flinched.

            _“You’re mine. I don’t care who you knew or who you loved… mine.”_

_“Soldat-”_

_Soldat threw Lydia over his shoulder and tied her to his motorcycle. “You want me?”_

_“Soldat, please, not here-”_

_“It has to be here…”_

            Tony giggled again, a little hysterically, and Steve chewed his lip.

            _“I think you need to be reminded that you belong to me.”_

            Both Lydia, onscreen, and Bucky, leaning heavily against the wall, groaned at the same time.

            _“…I can see why he loved you.”_

            “I told her she chose the wrong man.”

            “Jesus, Tony, turn it off-”

            “No, you’re watching this! Just like I had to!” Tony slammed his fist down on the keyboard, and Bucky jumped. Together, they watched in a sickening, fascinated horror as _Soldat_ made Lydia come on his motorcycle, then flipped her and rammed into her from behind.

            _“You… belong… to… me.”_

            Tony shot a look toward Bucky, who had tears gathering in his eyes. “I can’t believe she still loved you after you did that to her,” he snarled. “Treating her like property, like some sort of slut… some sort of slave-”

            “Tony, _shut_ _up_ -”

            “I told you, Steve,” Bucky muttered, and when Tony turned, took a quick step to the left, on his guard, but instantly lowered the gun. “I told you what I was.”

            “She was all you had, of course you were a little possessive-”

            “A _little_?” Tony scoffed. “That’s the most disgusting thing I’ve ever seen; I can’t believe she let her treat you like that, and if she had had any sense, she would have told you to fuck off! Of course, I’ll never get to see that happen, unfortunately, because she’s dead.”

            “…What?”

            “A bomb went off in the Capitol, and she was there, along with Drina, T’Challa, and that Zemo. It blew the whole thing up. There was a huge hole in the roof. We don’t know anything other than that. Everyone’s in the dark about this—we don’t have any information, except that someone had a bomb, it went off, and everyone who was in there is dead. Three-quarters of the world has lost a government figurehead. The entire United States government is decimated-”

            “Tony, if there’s no official information, we can’t know for sure if-”

            “LOOK, ROGERS!” Tony bellowed, shoving his cell phone at Steve. On it was a grainy, blurry picture of the Capitol, missing its iconic dome roof and surrounded by debris. It was a terrible picture, but unmistakable.

            “Did anyone… from the media-”

            “COULD ANYONE FUCKING SURVIVE THAT? FUCKING TELL ME, ROGERS, SINCE YOU’RE FUCKING CAPTAIN AMERICA, TELL ME, _COULD ANYONE FUCKING SURVIVE THAT?”_         

            “Please stop yelling,” Bucky whispered.

            “NO BARNES, I AM NOT GOING TO STOP YELLING! YOUR WIFE IS DEAD, THE KING OF WAKANDA IS DEAD, AND THE MAN WHO IMPERSONATED YOU JUST BLEW UP THE ENTIRE GODDAMN WORLD! MY AUNT IS DEAD, AND YOU, YOU LITTLE SHIT, HAVE EFFECTIVELY MURDERED _MY ENTIRE FAMILY!_ ”

            “Tony, stop it,” Steve said, his voice shaking. “We—we need to go there. We need to see-”

            “I don’t want to see,” Tony hissed. “I want Barnes dead. And I want you in front of whatever government we have left, doing things the right way for a change!”

            “You’re not talking sense!”

            “STOP WRITING ME OFF!” Tony was backing them both up now. “God, you’re just like my father! If you hadn’t been an utter idiot and had just signed the Accords, none of this would have happened!”

            “There was a shoot-on-sight order out for Bucky! I couldn’t let that stand!”

            “Because you decided to be a selfish, stupid asshole, I lost my entire family, Rogers-”

            “Don’t call him selfish-”

            “You shut the fuck up, you miserable piece of shit-”

            “ _Don’t talk to Buck like that_!” Steve flexed his arm, the shield humming threateningly.

            Bucky raised his gun again, on instinct, and came face-to-face with his wife’s old cryo tank… and the chair. The noise of Steve and Stark all but disappeared as he began to fully process where he was; he was in the room where he had been wiped, beaten, and raped, where he and Lydia had slept, not together, but in separate tanks, like animals—he’d taken her over that chair once, ruthlessly pounding into her, but whispering, almost inaudibly: _Don’t look at them,_ мышка, _look at me—it’s only us, let me have it all, little one, give it to me—_

An explosion rocked him out of his reverie, and he saw Steve, shield up, blocking some kind of light from Stark’s suit—he aimed the gun—

            Steve ducked suddenly, taking the shield with him, and the jet of light left a massive hole in the concrete wall. Tony came at Bucky and somehow, they ended up rolling over each other—the gun was gone, useless, in three pieces on the floor—Bucky and Steve were running up the stairs now, to the area where the doctors and HYDRA agents used to watch him fuck his wife.

            Debris came down in front of him; Steve was throwing his shield, trying to prevent Tony from getting to them—

            Bucky was almost crushed by a huge chunk of concrete, but vaulted over it and ran down to Steve, but he couldn’t get to him—

            “He’s not gonna stop. Go!”

            _Not without you._

He bared his teeth in silent frustration and ran.

            A blinding impact hit him from behind—he smashed into the padded wall and felt a moment of ironic pity for all of the HYDRA members he’d once thrown into it.

            “You killed my family!” Tony shrieked behind him, completely unhinged. “You destroyed everything I ever cared about! You took my father from me right when he started to care about me again!” He squeezed Bucky’s neck. “All those people you killed… do you even remember them?”

            Bucky pictured his wife’s face, smiling, her arms open, waiting for him. “…I remember all of them.”

            Steve was screaming, but whether it was from horror at the fight above him or grief at the loss of his wife, he wasn’t sure. For a brief, terrible moment, he’d been sure he would see her again, that the stone would allow her to choose, but then he realized— _there was no body to come back to._

He threw his shield and it smashed right into Tony; he let go of the wall, seeming to stagger in midair. Bucky used him to stop the impact of the fall and immediately rolled away while Tony was still recovering. Tony sent another jet of light at Steve, missed, and attempted to get up. Steve and Bucky moved together, each taking a side, so Tony was forced again and again to turn on his knees—

            And finally, Tony managed to wrestle Steve’s shield away from him and hit him in the head. Steve went stumbling backward—Tony’s arc reactor pulsed, preparing—Bucky grabbed Tony’s arm with his flesh hand, pulling it away from Steve’s prone form with all the strength he could muster; the orange jet of light destroyed the ceiling, not Steve—

            “Goddamn you,” Tony moaned hoarsely.

            Bucky smashed his head into the wall, once—twice—

            “Are you happy now?” Stark’s voice was taunting. “No one can make you pay for your crimes now, I bet that’s exactly what you wanted-”

            The inhuman screaming was coming from him, Bucky realized. His metal hand was closed tightly around Stark’s arc reactor, yanking mercilessly— _Lydia, I’m sorry, I love you, please don’t hate me—_

Steve saw Bucky thrown away from Tony and land on his back; he rolled sickeningly and Steve realized that most of his metal arm had been blown off. Red-hot metal and wires were exposed—Bucky went to a knee, tried to get up, and fell listlessly. Tony was coming toward Steve now, and Bucky saw it and grabbed his leg.

            Tony brought his boot down on Bucky’s face.

            Steve wasn’t fully aware of having gotten to his feet, but he felt the impact his back took, heard Tony speaking—

            “Final warning. Stay down.”

            “I could do this all day.” Steve spat blood from his mouth.

            They went at each other for what Steve knew was the final time. Steve had several thoughts in rapid succession; he reached the conclusion that no matter how hopeless he would be without his wife, he couldn’t leave Bucky alone—

            “Look what you’ve done to us, Cap! Why the hell couldn’t you just trust me? I had it under control, I was trying to do what was best for the team, I was trying to keep the team safe, it was my job—and then you went and ruined it-”

            “We were a _team_ , Tony, you don’t do everything on your own!”

            Tony landed a well-placed punch and broke Steve’s nose. “You son of a bitch, you’re the reason Drina is dead!”

            Steve wasn’t aware of doing anything until after it had been done. White-hot with rage, he flipped Tony over, sat astride him, and brought his shield down, tearing first into Tony’s arc reactor… and then into his helmet. Dimly, he saw Tony’s hands in the air, saw his stricken face staring up at him, and realized he was poised for the final blow.

            Bucky groaned.

            Steve peeled away from Tony, breathing heavily, repulsed by his former friend and by himself. Silently, he made his way over to Bucky, pulled him up, and took his weight. Bucky’s blood and tears were smeared all over his face.

            “You don’t deserve that shield, Rogers! My father made that shield!”

            Carelessly, Steve tossed it away, not even giving himself a chance to spare Tony a rude thought. _Forget Captain America,_ he told himself, supporting Bucky as they made their way out. _I never asked to be him. I never asked for any of it, and I’m tired of paying for what I didn’t ask for. I’m just Steve Rogers now._

_I’m sorry it was too late for us, Drina._


	38. Pas du Tout N

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Sad Tony, mentions of blood and beating, bombing, swearing, reunion fluff

Steve didn’t want to, he truly didn’t, but he knocked Tony out and put him on the quinjet anyway… in the cargo hold. He opened up a couple of vents so more air could travel through, doped Tony up to the maximum limit, and flew the plane home to New York to dump a still-unconscious Iron Man in Rhodey’s arms. Rhodey tried to apologize; Steve didn’t stay to listen. Instead, he stripped out of his uniform, put on jeans and a T-shirt, and went to a nearby restaurant to grab take-out.

            _“I am offering James Buchanan Barnes, his wife Lydia Barnes, Steven Grant Rogers, his fiancé Alexandrina Stark, Natasha Romanoff, Clint Barton, Sam Wilson, Wanda Maximoff, and Vision automatic, open-ended asylum until such time as the governments of the world deem any trials of the Winter Soldier and/or the Avengers unnecessary.”_ Here, T’Challa gave the cameras a dangerously pointed look.

            Steve’s head swung to the left so fast, he cricked his neck.

            _“I will be returning to Wakanda at this time,”_ T’Challa continued. _“When you figure out how to clean up the disaster you all created, come back to me and we can discuss the situation like civilized people.”_

Steve skidded out to the quinjet.

 

Alexandrina and Lydia had separated after the horrible incident at the Capitol; Lydia had gone on to Wakanda and waited anxiously for her friend’s call, and now Alexandrina was waiting, not at Stark Tower, but at Howard’s old mansion for Tony. Rhodey had called her and told her that he was bringing him there, away from the labs… and the memories. Alexandrina hadn’t been in there since 1991, and frankly, intended to bully Tony into coming to Wakanda with her and staying away from everything altogether.

            Howard’s ghost was _everywhere_.

            The baby’s things were likely still in the basement, untouched since they had shoved them away in 1944. Howard’s clothes were still in his closet, his half-filled bottles of shaving cream and cologne sitting in the bathroom cupboard. The bear that Lydia had won for Bucky at the Expo still sat on Tony’s bed in his old bedroom, and Alexandrina had snatched up Mr. Bear and put him in a bag, ignoring the layer of dust coating him… and everything else. Tony hadn’t touched a thing, maybe hadn’t set foot in here since he was seventeen.

            She expected to be cleaning for a few days before Rhodey brought Tony over, so when she heard the car pull up outside and saw an exasperated, exhausted Steve dragging a half-awake Tony (mumbling drunkenly) with a nervous Rhodey behind him, Alexandrina just stood there and blinked in confusion.

            Steve dropped Tony and ran to her.

            “I’ll be in Wakanda soon,” she told him, answering his unspoken question. “Just… let me help Tony first.”

            “Promise?”

            “I promise.”

            Tony grumbled something unintelligible; at the sound, Steve reluctantly peeled away from Alexandrina and went to the quinjet. Rhodey nodded at the two of them and followed Steve.

            “Tony?”

            He groaned.

            “Tony.”

            “Wha— _ow_ …”

            “Yeah. Come on. I can’t lift you.”

            Tony struggled, made it to one knee, and toppled over. Alexandrina huffed; one of Howard’s old robots skittered over and helpfully tried to yank Tony up.

            He screamed.

            “Oh God, Tony, I’m so sorry, goddamn it, I’m sorry-”

            “No…” he drawled. The robot dropped him and he landed on his ass, ignoring Alexandrina’s babbling. “My… fault…”

            “Yes. Yes it is,” Alexandrina responded softly, and at her gentle, forgiving tone, Tony burst into tears. “You need some help, sweetheart.”

            Tony looked at her, eyes swimming with tears, desperate and hopeless, and Alexandrina felt her heart break. Quietly, he got himself to his feet under his own power and staggered back to the infirmary.

 

Bucky’s nose was buried in his laptop when Steve came back to the cabin, leaving the quinjet on autopilot. He listed heavily to the right, and blood dripped steadily from his hair, nose, and gashes on his face; the remains of his metal arm made weak, hissing noises as he leaned slightly forward, concentrating on the grainy video that had just made it to the Internet a few minutes ago.

            In it, his wife strode back into the chamber, closely followed by Alexandrina, punched Zemo in the face, ripped the bomb out of his jacket, took one horrified look at it, and sent it flying up to the ceiling. Barely a millisecond before it went off, she threw what Bucky thought looked like a transparent, pulsing bubble over everyone in the room.

            The video cut out, and the newscaster took over again. “Thanks to the magical abilities of Lydia Barnes and the quick thinking of Alexandrina Stark, no one in the building at the time of detonation was hurt, including the bomber, a man named Colonel Helmut Zemo, who is now thought to be the one behind the demise of the Avengers. He and several other government officials, including the one from his own country, were arrested right after the bombing and charged with corruption and cooperation with organizations such as HYDRA and the KGB. The official from Helmut Zemo’s own country was thought to be the one who gave him the bomb when he arrived at the Capitol earlier in the afternoon…”

            Steve tuned her out and looked at Bucky, who was weeping steadily into a wad of tissues. “Why don’t you try and rest, jerk?”

            “Not until I see her again… punk.” Bucky smiled a little.

            Steve got them both blankets and pillows from the back of the plane. “Well, then I set the course and this thing can land the plane. I’m taking a nap. …Are you going to be okay?”

            “I’m not gonna die, Steve.”

            “Okay… Make sure you don’t.”

           

Wakanda was disgustingly hot. Right after she had brought Alexandrina and a reluctant Tony to the border that marked the country from the rest of the jungle, they’d all broken out in a sweat, much to T’Challa’s amusement. Thankfully, though, the complex of buildings that made up the palace and the surrounding inner city were all connected, and after a shower and a clean-up from T’Challa’s dignified, helpful servants, Lydia and Alexandrina both felt better. They’d sent Tony up to the infirmary with some of Wankanda’s best doctors and scientists, and Lydia had quickly followed to talk to those doctors and look at some of the advanced neurology technology that they had on hand.

            “LYDIA! LYDIA, THEY’RE HERE!”

            Lydia dropped the neurology book she was buried in with a loud clang and ran through the hallway, remembering the last time she had run to meet her husband like this.

            _“You’re real…”_

She shook her head and rushed outside. A small gathering of people were grouped in front of a quinjet, and T’Challa was near the front, eyeing it as it landed. Medics already had gurneys and supplies waiting; T’Challa stepped forward as the doors opened and disappeared inside the plane.

            Lydia and Alexandrina pushed their way forward, clutching each other for support.

            T’Challa came out, holding up both Steve and Bucky, and two of his bodyguards moved forward to aid him. Lydia let out a moan and pushed closer, followed by an already crying Alexandrina. Steve’s face lit up when he saw her and Bucky nearly fell flat on his face and took a bodyguard with him trying to get to his wife.

            “Steve-”

            “Drina-”

            “Bucky-”

            “Oh, Squeaky-”

            They blathered over each other and now Bucky did topple, Lydia going right down with him when he tried to huge her and realized he didn’t have a left arm to balance himself with. Alexandrina and Steve were kissing unabashedly, each talking over the other.

            “I love you,” Steve told her, over and over. “I love you so much—you have no idea-”

            “Oh, I’m pretty sure I do,” Alexandrina retorted, kissing him. “You don’t get to leave me again, understand?”

            “I’m never going to leave, I promise—the shield’s gone, baby, it’s just us now-”

            “Steve, I think there’s going to be three of us.”

            He froze.

            “I’m pregnant, Steve…”

            “It’s gonna be okay,” he blurted.

            They looked over at Lydia and Bucky, who were both struggling to get up amidst laughter and tears. “I don’t wanna go back into cryo, Lydia,” he said, his voice soft, almost desperate. “I’m never gonna leave you again. I love you… shit, the words aren’t enough, are they?”

            “No,” she answered, carefully running her fingers over the gashes on his face, healing them. “But you are.”


	39. Plus que ma Propre Vie--Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> FLUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUFF.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my God, it is finally done. Thank you to everyone who has been reading this, whether on this site, Tumblr, or both. Your comments and views have meant so much to me. This story is my baby and was there for me at a really difficult time in my life. Thank you all for your likes, your kudos, your comments, your reblogs. I'm so glad you liked this fanfic and I hope to continue to hear from you all with future stories.
> 
> Thank you.

**April 30, 2019**

 

“If there is an animal more stupid than a chicken, I have yet to see it.”

            “Shhh, Nat, Natalia probably heard you!”

            “It’s a fucking chicken, Clint, it doesn’t understand English!”

            “Oh, look, Nat, she’s got a present for you. He picked up the waddling chicken, who irritably flapped her wings and nearly sent the ring on its ribbon around her neck flying. Clint snatched at it. “Say hello to—oh shit, don’t bite-” He set the chicken down.

            “Barton.”

            “What?” He offered her the ring, now free of the ribbon. “Natasha Romanoff Barnes, will you-”

            “Don’t make a scene, Clint, this is their day… but yes, I’ll marry you.” She slipped the ring on and kissed his cheek.

            He blushed. The chickens squawked.

 

Lydia bit her lip, straightening out her dress before turning to Alexandrina’s. Alexandrina was in a white wedding dress, elegant in its simplicity, with one strap angling down her shoulder and diamonds and lace gracing the back, nearly all the way down. Lydia was in a light periwinkle dress, the thin, floaty material covered entirely by diamonds, which caught the light every time she moved.

            “You look beautiful.”

            “So do you, Lydia.” Alexandrina bit her lip.

            “Please do not cry.”

            “I’m trying not to, but-” She hiccupped.

            “You’ll ruin your makeup.” Lydia rolled her eyes.

            “I know, I know, I just… I’ve been waiting so long.”

            Lydia smiled. “Then let’s go.”

            They walked down the stairs, grinning stupidly at each other. Alexandrina’s dress whispered against the hardwood floor as they made their way to the homey entrance hall of Clint’s ranch, recently expanded for Alexandrina’s wedding and Lydia’s renewal of her vows. As they got closer, Lydia caught sight of the entire row of empty chairs at the front, reserved for Steve’s mother, Lydia and Alexandrina’s parents, Bucky’s mother and sisters, the Howling Commandos, and lastly, for Howard.

            Sitting behind Howard’s chair was Tony.

            “HI, MOMMY!”

            That got everyone’s attention; Alexandrina’s toddler went scampering down the aisle to meet her mother. Her sister, who had been asleep in Tony’s arms, woke up and squawked at the interruption of her sleep.

            Steve raised his head, caught sight of Alexandrina, and brightened like an overexcited puppy. Alexandrina hiccupped loudly behind Lydia, but smiled back. Bucky, who was Steve’s best man (and conveniently placed to renew his own vows, elbowed his best friend, then shot a look at his own sleeping daughter. Apparently, she could not care less about the proceedings, because she was curled up in her big sister’s arms, being rocked to the sound of Natasha and Wanda softly singing her Russian lullabies.

            Lydia went down the aisle first and took her place opposite Bucky. He winked.

            Sam picked up his guitar and began playing, “Here Comes the Sun.” Alexandrina, heedless of Lydia’s warnings, let the tears flow down her cheeks and went down the aisle.

            The judge smiled. “We are gathered her today to bear witness to two ceremonies. The first one is the _long_ -overdue marriage of Steven Grant Rogers and Alexandrina Marie Stark. If you have vows you two would like to say to each other, now would be the time.”

            They looked at each other, giggled, and Alexandrina took a breath. “Steve… it seems like we’ve spent our entire engagement finding and losing each other… and sleeping.” She snorted. “I didn’t think I could ever love anyone as much as I love you. And that’s saying something, because when I fall, I fall hard. And I spent so much time—wasted so many years—falling for the wrong people. And then I met you, and I tried so hard not to fall, really I did, because I knew there would be days when I came in second… and that I would lose you.” She wiped her face. “But you—you were everything I knew you would be…courageous, selfless, kind, endearing, hilarious, determined to do the right thing, and… I couldn’t help myself. I loved you. I still do. And I never want to be apart from you again. I know we said we weren’t going to talk about the stupid stuff again, but I do want to say… I am truly sorry for the way I treated you when we did have time together, and even if it was only because I put myself under enormous pressure, it was still wrong and you didn’t deserve it, so… I’m so happy we get another chance at a life. I think after everything we’ve been through… we deserve it.”

            Steve wiped his own face and took her hands. “Drina… when I met you… I was small and skinny and resentful, and I’d never needed someone like you more.” He took a breath. “Bucky was sick of me, even though he’d never say so, and I couldn’t blame him. So when we met and you liked me despite the fact that I was… what did you call me, Buck?”

            “I called you a lot of things, punk.”

            “The personification of the raincloud emoji,” Lydia muttered, remembering a post from a website that she’d read long ago.

            “Yes, that,” Steve continued. “Despite the fact that I was… whatever that is… you liked me anyway, and I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know how to act, and you kept loving me. You kept waiting for me, even though you deserved better than that and we both knew it. And I left you so many times… and to be honest, I just kept expecting you to walk away. But you never did. And I’m sorry… and I love you for that. I adore you, you’re my everything. What we’ve done together these past couple of years—living together, starting a family—it’s meant more to me than anything else I’ve ever done. You, our kids—you all are my greatest accomplishment. And I swear to you right now that I’ll never forget that. Ever.”

            “I won’t let you,” Alexandrina whispered.

            The judge coughed. “Do you have the rings?”

            They both nodded and held them up.

            “Exchange them if you would, please.”

            They did.

            “With the power vested in my by the state of New York, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride. Finally.”

            Steve cupped the back of Alexandrina’s head, stroking her hair, and kissed her. When the applause and encouraging yells died down, Alexandrina and Steve switched spots with Lydia and Bucky, who came together and took each other’s hands.

            “We are also here to witness this couple renewing their vows after _seventy_ - _five_ years of marriage,” the judge informed the audience. “I would imagine that you two have quite a bit to say to each other, so I’ll just step back.”

            Lydia smiled. “Bucky… I met you seventy-six years ago today—did you know that? The Stark Expo was seventy-six years ago, today. I don’t know if you remember all of it, but I dropped all my books in the library and just left them there after we decided to go. I took one look at you and I knew I was done for. You were standing there… so handsome in your uniform, and I forgot all about the fact that I’d given up on having love a long time ago. I started loving you, and I kept loving you. All the time we were apart, I loved you. When you were taken and I was afraid everything had gone wrong and you were actually gone, I loved you, and then when I saw you again, there, and I realized that you were still you, I loved you.” She ignored Bucky’s infinitesimal snort. “I loved you when I saw you again in that little apartment in Romania. Seventy-five years, Bucky.” She sighed. “I know I didn’t choose to come here and that we were manipulated into our relationship, but I don’t care. I… I decided a while ago that I shouldn’t pay for something that I never asked for. I’m tired of doing that, Bucky. I didn’t ask for any of it, and I didn’t ask to try and change things. So… now I’m glad I get to just be with you. Now we can do things right, because I know I will never feel the things I do for someone else as deeply as I feel them for you. You always told me, ‘Remember that I love you,’ but there is no way that I could ever forget… and you didn’t either. And that means everything.”

            Bucky coughed discreetly, let go of her hand, ran his fingers through his hair, then reached out to tuck it back and realized (again) that it was short. He let out a tiny, nervous giggle and clenched his black vibranium hand back around his wife’s, looked down at it, and brushed away a tear. “I’ve… called you by many names over the last seventy-five years,” he began. “Lydia. Squeaky. Wife. мышка. You have been my one constant, in all this time. I have loved you much more than I could ever love anyone, even Steve, sorry, punk.” He smirked. “You wore a pretty periwinkle dress on the night we met, and you tripped on our way home because of those heels and swore up a storm. And then we got home and we couldn’t keep our hands off each other.” He blushed, and ignored Natasha’s gagging noises. “When HYDRA took me for the first time, all I thought about was you. You kept me sane. Steve found me, repeating my number and talking to you. And when I was taken again, and I saw you there… I knew you were mine. You were my мышка. I knew deep down that you were worth giving up everything for. And when I had to, I didn’t even question it. …And now… now that all of it is over and we’re here… I will never understand how you can still love me, Squeaky, knowing everything I’ve done and what kind of man I am. Mr. Stark-” he bit his lip. “Mr. Stark made us rings, and mine says, ‘More than my own life.’ I think I love you even more than that.” He offered her his left arm. “You know I had that star taken off… but you didn’t know I had the techs add this.” He displayed his wrist, raised metal forming swirling letters. “It’s ‘more than my own life’ in English, Russian, and French. …Just in case.”

            Lydia, despite her scolding of Alexandrina and her promises to herself, began to cry. Gently, she traced the raised lettering, smiling through her tears. “I had them change the dates of our anniversary, too,” Bucky told her after a moment. “The old one is still in the records, but… I thought today would be better. Happier.” He stroked her cheek. “We can have a life now. And I promise you, my мышка, my Squeaky, my Lydia, my wife, I will always remember everything you’ve done for me. You… you are enough.”

            And for the first time in seventy-six years, Lydia knew he was right.


End file.
